Hogwarts: A PreHistory
by Rico Perrien
Summary: A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.
1. The Battle

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

I must acknowledge some inspiration from the works of Archie Fisher.

**Chapter 1: The Battle**

The general stood on the hill overlooking the battle field. As usual, he was gratified by the valour and prowess of his troops, and disgusted by the loss of life and talents on both sides. He had fought many battles in the Danelands, far from his Cornish homeland. In his life he had travelled much farther through many lands and had seen many wonders, but always returned to his island where his success as a warrior was in great demand in this troubled time. He brushed his long hair, no longer the rich red of his youth, back from his brow. He was growing very tired of watching men die.

Also, as usual, he had won, with minimal loss of life on his side. His men knew that those who fought under his banner (the Golden Gryphon {Gryffin d'or} on a red ground) had a better than average chance of surviving a battle in reasonable health, and that any minor wounds would be repaired quickly and with little pain. He trained his forces well, even providing additional training to those who had come to his army already knighted. The extra training he gave made it more likely that his men were the ones left standing, and not lying on the grass below. Even now, the dividers and the healers were moving among the wounded, and those who the dividers determined could be healed were being attended to, while those who could not were given the blow of grace (in French , the 'coup de grace') to end their suffering. For those who had taken the faith of the cross, a priest moved among them to give the last rites, if called for.

If the fallen man was in agony, the divider cast a spell to ease the pain, before either treatment or death. The general had given order to this effect, because leaving anyone in distress when it could be eased was a wound to his own soul, and an unacceptable indignity to all who witnessed it.

The invading Viking band had been soundly beaten, and most of their fighters had died bloodily. The healing and the granting of a (more-or-less) painless death were given to friend and foe alike. Those who were to live were taken as prisoners, the nobility to be ransomed and the commoners to be enslaved as was the custom of the age.

Being a powerful wizard, the general had been able to actually see the flow of magic during the battle. His kind only numbered one in a thousand of the population, but tended to rise to the top by their abilities, although some matched their magical prowess with arrogance and stupidity. As such, magical folk were sometimes respected (as in his own case), or resented and hated. Many magical folk had met nasty deaths at the hands of the non-magical population when they thought themselves above the demands of common decency or courtesy.

He looked over to his right flank, to see how the new lieutenant, a young non-magical Saxon earl, had fared. Because of his family's rank, he had to be made an officer, but in the general's opinion, the boy couldn't command a dog to bark. The young man was brought up to expect instant obedience from his 'inferiors', regardless of their own abilities. The general knew that when such men went into battle, they tended to die young, sometimes by the hands of their own men when conditions made this impossible to prove. Not willing to risk the lives of other men to satisfy the boy's ego unsupported by competence, within his squads the general had placed a number of his best sergeants who could cast protective spells over the men. The young officer had sustained some minor wounds, not enough to harm or maim him permanently, but perhaps enough to suggest finding a different line of work.

The general paused as he contemplated how many battles he had taken part in, and how many he had won. He noted that, for this battle, his senior officers had done all of the planning and the management of the fight. His presence had not really been necessary for the running of the battle, although the men took heart from him being there on the hill in plain view, with his standard flying proudly.

He had not had to draw his legendary sword for at least two years. He had purchased the blade from the goblins, who alone of magic folk could not only cast spells on weapons, but actually work powerful spells into the metals. He had purchased many weapons from the goblins, who were fierce fighters in their own rights. He was very thankful that the opposing army had not had any goblins in their ranks, because the small people had a very different view of warfare than humans did – fighting over farmlands with no mineral resources struck their folk as a waste of time and blood, but the attack of any human on any goblin, with deadly intent, was considered an attack on their entire folk, requiring overwhelming vengeance. They drove a hard bargain, but it was always wiser to negotiate with a goblin than trying to fight one.

He also realized that it had been several years since he took on his lion form during a fight. He had found that he no longer enjoyed the look of terror in the eyes of his enemies, just as he had quit running through the field near his home, panicking the cattle. He still enjoyed the feeling of the rippling movement of his feline musculature when he transformed, but regretted the fear he engendered in the population when there was word of a lion running loose in the neighbourhood.

Perhaps it was time to retire, and work on his new plan.

One odd feature of the battle had caught the general's attention more than any other. There had been a band of berserkers who surrounded a tall middle-aged blonde woman in their midst, who was apparently lame. They had fought fiercely with her at the centre of their formation during the battle. He had seen the protective magic flowing from the woman, who seemed to be casting defensive spells over the men but not giving herself any such coverage. One of his slingers had managed to strike the woman on the head, knocking her unconscious, and the protection over the men ceased. Lacking armour, as they drew their names from the bare shirt (or sark) they wore, the berserkers then died like flies.

More than one of the Vikings had looked up as they died, and smiled. In more than one instance, the general sensed, more than saw, an ethereal form of a woman in armour, gesturing to the dying man. Although he did not believe in the Norse legion of gods himself, he was glad that, in their last moments, these valiant fighters had felt they were bound for a more glorious future in Valhalla. To die with no hope or comfort was a fate not to be wished on even your worst enemy. War was too serious a business to encumber yourself with hate.

The unconscious woman was the reason that the general and his elite corps were at this battle so far north of his home. She was the reason that so much land of the northern kingdoms were now in the hands and under the yoke of the Norsemen. When it was recognised that she was a most puissant witch, casting powerful defensive spells, and these were helping her forces to conquer the armies sent against them, the great military wizard and his men were asked for their assistance.

Before the battle, the general had interrogated a captured Norse noble, who was highly incensed by the woman's presence and her powers. He had complained that a man could not claim any glory when his victory was due to a woman's protection. How, he had railed, could a man face the gods and impress them so that when he fell he would be taken to Valhalla? The fact that a witch gave him his triumph undermined all of that. And this woman was not only a witch, but she was also a peasant! This was intolerable! The noble had been very specific as to the punishment he felt all magical folk should suffer for denying him his rightful glory.

The general was also very interested that the woman's use of her powers had changed recently. Up to about a month before, she cast spells which made her berserkers almost invulnerable, and protected other groups at the same time. She herself was also protected, but as of a short time ago, she ceased protecting herself. It was almost like she wanted to be killed in battle. It sounded like she was as tired of war as he himself, and saw this as the only way out.

He called his chief healer to his side. The healer was also his eldest daughter, and married to one of his senior staff officers. He requested that she make sure that the fallen woman was retrieved and treated to the best of her abilities, and that the woman be afforded the comforts of his own tent, while he would bunk with the men. He wished to speak with her once she had regained her senses.


	2. The First Meeting

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

I must acknowledge some inspiration from the works of Archie Fisher.

**Chapter 2: The First Meeting**

Helga awoke felling very strange. Her head hurt, but at the same time, didn't hurt in the way she thought it should. Her legs felt very odd, as they had not felt these twenty and more years. She felt, for lack of a better term, well. Very well.

She began to move under the blanket which covered her, and realized that she was naked. As the same time, she sensed that she was not alone in the luxurious tent.

A deep voice broke the silence, saying "Welcome back to the land of the living, my lady. Would you like some water or some wine?"

Helga found her throat was extremely dry. "Beer or ale", she said, realizing to her astonishment that the man was speaking her own language, and in her home dialect. She knew from long experience that, in most lands, water was not usually safe to drink, and that she need the sustenance that came in beer, and was afraid that she would need to keep her wits about her. She was in an unfamiliar tent, naked in bed, with a strange man nearby. She knew the usual fate of women captured in battle.

The voice said "Accio alu", and a flagon of ale floated across the room from the table which held food and drink. Helga's eyes widened as she realized that the man was a wizard, and obviously in a high position given the luxury of the tent and that there was food within it, instead of served at a table outside. He may even be the tall man she saw (briefly) standing on the top of the hill overlooking the battle.

He asked, "Would you like food? We have meat, bread and cheese here, and if you wish, my elves will fetch fresh fruit." She shook her head, and the motion brought on a wave of nausea which caused her to retch. Fortunately, having been unconscious for some time, she had nothing in her stomach to expel, but the effort obviously took what little energy she had.

The man asked hastily, "My lady, do you require the further attention of a healer?" She shook her head, carefully, and drank cautiously. She had no reason to fear poison, as she had apparently been treated well, but caution and vigilance was something that she had learned young.

Once her throat was moist enough to speak, she asked "Why am I naked? And how is it you speak my language?"

The man laughed gently. "I had wondered if those would be your first questions. The answer to the first is that my healer needed to examine you for injuries without and within. As to your language, I can hear thoughts, and I had some familiarity with your tongue from years of travel and war. "

Helga grew furious "I was treated by a camp follower? You probed my thoughts?"

Again the man laughed heartily. "Her mother would kill me if she heard you call our eldest daughter such a name. Bronwyn is a master Healer, as is her mother. My wife finds that camp life no longer agrees with her, so she remains home in Cornwall with our children and grandchildren. No, my lady, you were treated with the most skill I have at my current command."

"And I would not look into your mind without your permission – to do so without your leave would demean me as much as it would violate you. In your, shall I say, slumber, you called out both in your voice and from your mind – it would have been hard not to hear in both ways."

"Now, as to your injuries, I am told that your legs were broken when you were a young woman, and that you have been rather brutally violated at roughly the same age. You have borne three children, although Bronwyn could not determine their sexes or current health - she is very good, but not all-knowing. She healed your legs as well as your pelvic injuries, both inside and out. For my purposes, I need you in excellent health."

"May I ask how you came by these injuries? And may I ask your name"

Helga was shocked by the man's dispassionate description of the injuries which had been her companions for her adult life. "My lord, may I ask why you need my body in such good health? Surely a trollop who cannot run away would serve your purpose as well as one who can. As to the cause of my more private injuries, my chieftain held to the 'right of the lord', and was not a gentle man, so my wedding night was not something I remember with fondness, in spite of the fact he had the right. My legs were broken to prevent my running from battle, once my protective powers became evident – this is often done to blacksmiths to keep them from fleeing to another town taking their prized skills with them."

"As to my name, I am Helga, daughter of Olaf, and wife of Ragnor Hufflepuff. My husband fell in battle ten years ago, and my son Gunnar fell in a battle at Lindesfarne the last time the moon was full. Since then, I had hoped to fall in the yesterday's battle myself - I would have been content to see the Valkyries. And you have no need to call me 'My lady', for I am of humble birth."

The man moved into Helga's view. "Then, Helga Hufflepuff, I am Godric, son of Halbard of the house of Gryffindor. I address you as 'My lady' in honour of your valour and courage. I care little for birth-rank, as I have seen many highborn idiots and I know of many commoners with the best of skills and character. I care for and give respect for ability and skill, not the worth or position of one's great-grandfather."

"I grieve for the loss of your son. I was at the battle at the Holy Isle last month myself, so fear I may be in part responsible for your loss. Again, I am sorry. Further, your head wound was severe, and you have actually been unconscious for full five days since the battle where you and your folk fell."

"I gather your other children are daughters."

She smiles sadly. "One daughter died in infancy, but the other is married to a good man. When our lord claimed his rights of her, her injuries were more severe than mine and she is now barren. Although it was his to claim, I do wish it was otherwise."

Godric nodded. "You speak with loyalty to your chief, even though he has done you and yours great harm."

Helga nodded and said, "He has done what he had the rights to do. My loyalty was not something he needed to earn, but something that was my duty to give the leader of my clan. However, you have taken me in battle, and as I am of the peasant class, my life and service is now yours to do with as you wish."

Godric nodded and was silent for a moment.

When he spoke again, it was to say something Helga never expected to hear. "My lady, I would have you serve me in a plan that I have. The plan will require some strenuous effort on your part, which is why I need you in good health. I would prefer that you agree to this task by your own volition, as I would hope that you would find the work to your liking."

"My Lady Helga, in addition to having you remain in this land, and allowing for the agreement of your chief, when I ransom the nobles of your invading force I will buy the freedom of your daughter and son-in-law from your chief. My healers will treat your daughter and will do their best to restore her body, that she may have children if she wishes it."

Helga gasped at this offer. "What is this service you require of me that would require good health, and prompt you to make such an offer to one of my station in life? I am certainly too old and ugly to tempt you as a bedmate."

The man laughed aloud once more. "My lady, you completely misunderstand me, and you are mistaken. For one thing, you are neither too old nor ugly for that service, as you and I are probably of an age, and any disfigurement which you believe you have is from an honourable hard life and the grime from campaigning in the fields. But that is of absolutely no matter, as that is not my desire of you, and my wife would have my skin for a boat's sail if I did. No, I have something much worse and much harder in mind for you to do."

The fear in Helga's eyes brought a twinkle into Godric's as he said, "I want you to help me teach children."


	3. The Plan

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

**Chapter 3: The Plan**

Helga sat up, in shock. "What?" she cried, oblivious to the fact that her position now let her blanket fall from in front of her, baring her chest. However, after years of campaigning and bathing in the presence of hundreds of men, and spending weeks in an open longship with others, she had little use for modesty.

Having sat up suddenly after her severe head injury, Helga felt quite faint and lay back.

Godric smiled at her, as he moved her blanket to cover her again.

"My lady Helga, I am growing too old for battle. The smell of blood no longer excites me. And I have seen too many young men fall before they can learn what they need to survive. I have tried to train my men as best I can, but often it is not adequate."

"More, I have known men and women who have aptitudes for things I cannot teach, and which they cannot learn from their parents.

Helga frowned, "But it is the way of things that parents must teach their children their way in the world. A boy has always followed in his father's footsteps."

"Not so", said Godric. "I have travelled far, and have been to Byzantium, the city of the Roman Emperor Constantine, thus it is also called Constantinopolis. There I learned that it was the Roman Emperor Diocletian who, about six hundred years ago, decreed that a boy _must_ follow his father's trade, whether he was a soldier, a farmer, or a mule-driver."

"We are not under the control of Rome any longer, and I cannot agree with the principle of this idea. I am the seventh son of a seventh son, so I have many uncles, brothers and cousins. Not all followed their fathers' callings."

"My grandfather is a landholder whose magical talents focus on growing crops. He spent some time at a school for animal husbandry and crop management, but most of his talent was his alone. Not all of his son's could be farmers; there was not enough land for that. My father and some of my uncles became soldiers, and one accepted the faith taught by the Irish priests and is a brother in a monastery. I became a soldier, not because my father was a soldier, but because I was helping my grandfather with the harvest when one of our tenant's farms was raided by brigands and I found I had the skills needed to defend them. Later I found I had a talent for organization and some small ability in healing, and I learned the arts of war from my father. A general is more often an administrator than a fighter."

"My Lady, I watched you in the battle, and you cast spells to defend your men which I have never seen. You cast charms which deflected arrows and spears, or caused them to pass over your men. I know many defensive charms, but not these. My wife and daughters know healing charms which I cannot perform, but my grandfather taught me charms which make the corn grow higher and fuller to feed people, and these my father and wife know not."

"I have men come to me, who have learned all their fathers can teach, and I teach them more of war than their fathers could. Some of those who have the Powers can learn defensive charms and spells, while others can learn spells of offense, but cannot defend even themselves. Not all who have magic have the same talents, and many do not have the same talents as their parents, and the father's teachings do not meet the son's abilities, and so a son is trained to fail."

"I want to start as place of learning, such as the monks and priest have at their cathedrals and at the Holy Isle, where we can gather teachers in all arts and ways. Ways that their fathers cannot teach, because they do not know them, just as I do not know the spells that you cast."

"The priestly folk teach all who come to them, but some hate those of us with The Magic. Therefore, I want to have a school for those who have magic, so that they can learn what magic fits them the best. If they are most adept at healing, we will train them to be the best healers. If they can cast spells of defence, we will teach that. If they can transfigure things or themselves, we will teach that."

"For this, I need to gather the best teachers I can find. Those who have proved their talents, and those who can pass on those talents. I believe that you would be one of these, if you are willing. To teach well needs a personal commitment, not just a sense of loyalty to me and my plan. And we will teach all who come to us with the magic within them."

Helga frowned and said, "You speak of the sons. What of the daughters? I have seen many who have great magic within them, but their mothers teach them to be wives and mothers and to run a household. Some are fortunate to have a grandmother or wise woman of the neighbourhood who can teach them to be a midwife, but I have seen girls who cannot take the sight of blood, and have no skill in the kitchen, but whose magic is powerful but is wasted on what they are allowed to do. I have heard many men say that women should not be taught beyond what is needed in the kitchen and the bedroom (and sometimes not there), because they are destined by God to be slaves to their men and need to learn naught but to serve. I believe this is a travesty, a tragedy and a waste! I myself am an example of how a woman can be outside the home, and can contribute!"

Godric nodded. "I agree completely. I believe that women have souls and brains, in spite of what some others say. If they have the power and the wit, they should be taught to use them to best advantage. We must teach the young women as well as the young men." He smiled to himself, and continued. "One thing we must teach to both is one that the clergy frowns on young people learning, that is, the nature and function of their bodies, the powers of love and procreation, and how to serve them and how to keep them at bay. We do not want all the young women to need to stop their lessons frequently to feed their babes – it is the way of young people to find each other's company entertaining, and we must accommodate it, but we also need to encourage the learning above all else. Perhaps, we will need to employ wet-nurses and crèches as well as teachers, so that a talented young mother can continue her education while fulfilling her rightful duties to her infants. Either that, or we just make allowances for nature."

The blonde witch scowled and bit her lip. "My lord, I see problems with your plan. At what age do you wish the children to start their schooling with us?"

The wizard thought for a moment. "I think that we should start their studies around the age of 11 years or so. At that time, they would have learned most of what their parents have to teach. If their parents can teach more, we should consider having them at the school to teach others as well."

"And how long a time would they be at the school?", she asked.

He shook his head. "Of that, I am not certain either. I have trained men for a period of two years, and found that inadequate to take in all that I have to teach, much less what others may teach. It would take a number of years. When you consider the time it takes before ready to take communion in the new churches, the gatherings where they follow the teachings of the holy man from Nazareth, I would think a period of about seven years should be about enough, with the possibility to continue with a master if the student shows promise for mastery in a given skill."

Helga nodded, and sighed. "I see the problems as this. You mean to take young people from their families at a time when they will have perhaps learned a trade, or serve as workers on the family's farm. You take them away during the years when most young people are getting married and starting families themselves – you have said yourself that we would not hold them cloistered away from one another. Would the families be compensated for the loss of their sons and daughters, who after all are all the security most families have?"

The wizard smiled at the witch in the bed before him. "My lady, you have already improved the idea I had for this school, and raised matters we must consider. Perhaps the school would run only in winter when the work on a farm is the least, with breaks at planting and harvest. I have skill in organizing, but I find I often miss points which are important. You have pointed out one such, and for that I thank you."

"I think we will be able to do wonders together. However, we also need others – you and I together cannot teach everything, and we cannot teach all who come to us by ourselves. We must find others to help in this great work which I think we can accomplish."

"First, we need to tally up what skills we have between us, and see what skills we do not. Then we must seek those who have abilities which we think to be crucial to teach so that nothing is missed. And we must find a place where we can gather the teachers and the students together."


	4. Change of Command

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

**Chapter 4: A Change of Command**

The next day, Lord Godric called a meeting of his senior staff.

"Thank you all for coming today." He smiled at the chuckles which answered this statement. When 'The General' called a meeting, unless you were on your deathbed, you attended (and even then, you made the attempt, even if it required having your bed carried to the meeting, hoping you didn't interrupt the discussion with your death-rattle).

Lord Godric continued. "As you all know, I am getting older, and have felt for some time that I would like to retire to a less active life. Therefore, this day, I am passing command of this army, with its battle standard which you have all served honourably, to General Black. I want to thank you all for your service and loyalty, and I mean to continue to call on you for your continued assistance in my endeavours."

Now he had their full attention. A retiring soldier whose passes on his command does not usually require continued service from his subordinates.

"Over the years, I have spoken to many of you about my plans to start a school for the magically gifted. I have tried to train our soldiers to best use their skills, but I feel that we need a place where they can take their learning and training beyond what we have been able to do as part of a functioning army. Most of our men have had one or two years of training at best, and then they learn on the battle field. The field teaches well, but it is a harsh teacher as it is too often littered with the corpses of those who, with more training and practice, might have survived to be great warriors, or who might have shown talents in other areas but were required by their birth or their needs to be soldiers."

His officers knew how many poor boys joined the armies of their local lords and chieftains, if only as a way to have food each and every day and maybe a way to advance through the rigid social strata. Even a peasant had a chance of becoming a wealthy knight, or at least dying well-fed.

"I plan to start such a school, hopefully within a year or two. Some of you have talents I, and my associates, will require. The school will likely run only in the winter, so that students can campaign with you or farm on their families' or their lords' lands, as they are called to do. I plan to call on you when I need you, and I trust that you will come to my call." Again, when you have sworn your life to the man, you come when he calls.

"Anyway, I am retiring from this band of comrades, but I do not say farewell. I expect to see you all many times in the future. You will all be welcome in my house, even you, young Potter!" The group laughed, as the young captain blushed. Pascal Potter was engaged to the General's youngest daughter, who shared what had been her father's flaming red hair of their Celtic heritage. Pascal's sister Gloria was already married to the General's middle son Michael, who also had the ruddy complexion and hair. Potter's mother and grandmother were also redheads, and it was said that, if a witch had red hair, there was a Potter after her hand, as well as the rest of her body.

"As I said, I now pass command to General Back. Al, please come forward."

Lord Alcor Black moved to the front of the tent, and shook Godric's hand, then pulled the older man into an embrace as both cried for a moment at the parting, an ending and a beginning. Godric nodded to the younger officer, and said "Al, take care of my men", and left the tent.

Lord Black's family was a very old one, with the Anglicised name coming from the original Roman family name 'Nero'. It was sometimes suggested by his friends that the name came from the fact that of the unusually high number of his family who had the power of the Animagus and could transfigure themselves into animals, all had black fur. Alcor himself sometimes took the form of a large black wolf.

General Black looked around the room. He said, "You all know your tasks, and you all do them well. You will continue as before, although there may be some minor changes. Weasley!" as he looked at Theodore Weasley, now _his_ chief tactician, " I know I will need your abilities more than ever. I will count on you and your team to train some assistants, so that we can have greater flexibility in our actions – you will have noticed that our enemy's tactics are changing, and I would have us be ready for them. Yesterday, the witch who was casting those protective spells over our enemies was taken, alive." This was welcome news to many in the room. "Lord Gryffindor wants her to teach at his new school. So our enemies are going to have to change their tactics, and we must be ready for them if we are going to continue winning. I want to continue winning, and I trust you do too." As the gathered men laughed, he added, "I will rely on you for these new ideas."

Looking over at another officer with a noble family of known talent, "Longbottom, you are now my adjutant. I will need you to keep me from making too many mistakes." At this, Lucius Longbottom smiled while the other officers laughed again. One thing Black did not make was mistakes. This included the mistake of belittling what were now _his_ men.

"Captain L'herb-vert." He called for his quarter-master, whose name came from his family's power to find green forage for their horses, whatever the season (and who would change their name to the more English form of 'Greengrass' during the 100 Years War, four centuries hence). "Henri, we have seventy new nobles to feed and house, and one hundred and twenty new peasant-slaves to tend to as well. I look for you to provide." It was a private joke between the men, both of whom were animagi, that as a warrior, Alcor's form of a wolf was appropriate, and Henri de :L'herb-vert's form of a large sheep-dog suited a man whose tasks and nature were to protect and provide.

Godric stood outside the tent, listening contentedly as his most trusted aid not only assumed command, but _took_ command.

Lord Gryffindor returned to his tent, when Helga Hufflepuff was still recuperating. He looked at her and said, "Now, my lady, we call for aid! Reach out with your mind and call. The ones we want are the ones who will be able to hear."


	5. The Witch of the Westmerland

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. There is an age discrepancy which I believe to be non-canonical (or at least info not in the books, although it may have come from canonical sources), but I have endeavoured to account for this in later chapters, so don't get your knickers in a twist. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

**Chapter 5: The Witch of the Westmerland**

It was a cold day in the marshlands of western Wales. The witch was travelling by foot to her next destination, where a baby was due, perhaps at any minute. She served as mid-wife, as doctor, as predictor of good harvests, as finder of lost things, and many other tasks which came her way. Other skills she had as well.

She often wished that she had the skill of her sister and three brothers, who could command a broom to fly, but that was one talent she had none of. On the other hand, flying through cold air on a misty day would have chilled her to the bone, in spite of casting warming spells. She could have apparated to the small cottage (or 'stepping across space' as she termed it), but it was important for her livelihood that the neighbours saw her walking up to the house, so that they would know that it had been _she_ that had been there to help.

Her name was Rowena, one of the many herbal or arboreal names given to girls. She was named for the mountain-ash tree which bore red berries and in fall carried red leaves which matched her hair, and that of the other women in her family. When she was born with a thatch of bright red hair, her name came naturally to her family. As the family had no surname, she was called Rowena, daughter of Owen, son of Daffid, and from a young age she learned the ways of trees and plants from her grandmother, who had a way with them.

As a young woman, she had not known the powers that would come to her with time and learning from all she met. She met travelling wizards and witches, from whom she learned what she could. Some were kind and some were bitter from their abuse by the non-magical. She found that many developed their power through having to defend themselves, and because of this, the 'strong' were not always the 'good'. She learned to defend herself, first with her hands and then with her magic.

Her father had been able to transform himself into a raven, and her beloved grandfather could become a golden eagle when he wished. Rowena wished she had this skill, but found that she could only transform her fingers into talons. When she was just seventeen, her band of travellers was attacked, and she had transformed and blinded several of their number with her hands. Word of this ability spread quickly, and she came to be called 'The Raven's Claw' among the bands of thieves and robbers who tried to harm her, and who quickly learned to find easier prey.

She paused in her walking to listen to the wind and beyond. In her mind, she could hear the young mother-to-be, starting to strain to deliver her new son. She could 'hear' the soon-to-be-born boy was loudly objecting to the pressure he felt pushing him from his comfortable fluid shelter into a harsh world (although he did not understand the thoughts of the people around his mother, having no idea of what their world held that was so different than his). Rowena smiled at this – it was always the way that the babe had no idea what they were getting themselves into, but finding the journey unpleasant.

From the thoughts coming to her in the wind, and the feelings she could perceive, even at yet a mile's distance, she knew she would be in plenty of time to assist the fourteen year young wife deliver her first child (the woman being barely more than a child herself, but that was how life was for the poor of this time and place), and perhaps ease their suffering, at least for a time – being poor folk in a hard land, they would have more than their share of _that_ for the rest of their lives.

Rowena was proud of the fact that, as a midwife, she had never lost a mother or a child in childbirth, and by virtue of her cleansing charms and advice on hygiene, had never lost any to child-bed fever either. She had helped those with magic and those without, both human and other.

One of her proudest moments had been when she had helped Fonella (a centaur) through a difficult birth of twins, a filly and a colt – she had had to reach up the birth canal and apparate the foals out of their mother's body, catching the somewhat larger than normal babes in her arms (having braced herself for the sudden load – centaurs have large babies). It had been a tricky double breech birth, and even a single breech had been known to kill both the foal and the mare, because of the hind legs being dislocated and jamming against the mother's pelvis. She gained much good-will among the community of proud and haughty creatures for this service. For them to have allowed a human to help in such a private matter was an honour she was proud to bear. By the magic of the mysterious creatures and the trust they had in her, she learned to transform herself into the shape of a centaur, although without their powers. As a sign of their respect, they presented her with a beautiful diadem, which on course she could not wear publically, that the centaurs themselves used in place of the wand which human magical folk used.

As a physician, her potions had helped many a sick person in this damp and remote corner of the world where help was scarce, and where death often came too soon through overwork, illness or injury. Her recommendations on plants, and how to grow them, helped many a poor family have more and better food to eat than they would otherwise have in the rocky marshy soil of this part of their homeland.

Listening to the thoughts floating past her as she stopped to catch her breath, she 'heard' a pair of very distant voices. One was male and the other female. Rowena knew that the owners of those voices must be extremely powerful to be heard so clearly at such a distance. She got the distinct impression that the voices came from the far side of England.

It was voices calling for help, but not the kind of help which she was often called to for assistance.

It was not a call from builders, whose load of stone was falling on a worker who was going to be crushed, or whose load was too heavy for the crane. They would need her to come instantly to levitate the stone to the top of the castle wall, or off the body of the workman.

It was not call from a wounded knight who needed the bleeding stopped – often, by the time she had apparated to the knight, the blood loss was severe, and life force magics had to be employed by having him sleep in her arms while she cast healing spells and called on the forces of the plants and animals around her to give of their own magic, and with her body in contact with the earth beneath, drawing power from the very soil and the water.

It was not the fearful cry of a lost lamb or child.

It was the call from two magically powerful people seeking aid in teaching, of all things. The voices promised bed and board to any who would aid them in this task. She recognised the 'voice' of the man, whose thoughts she had heard for many years, usually when he was aroused in the heat of battle and his mental shields were not attended to as he would when he was at ease.

Although she was powerful herself, making a living was hard in a hard time in a hard country. The witch knew that she could sleep in a warm bed somewhere else, and still arrive in time for emergencies anywhere she wished, when she could hear the mind of the one calling, and focus on arriving where they were, but such warm beds were hard to come by.

She was getting older, and old bones feel the cold and the hard ground more than young ones. It had been many years since she had known from one night to the next where she would sleep. She had been walking the hills of her homelands for the better part of a half century, and would have liked to retire from her lonely work, but having no land and no patron, ceasing work just meant the slow hungry death.

She had healed a local lord of his hurts for over thirty years, and he had promised her an honoured place on his lands with a generous pension, but when he died, his son had resented her keeping his father alive when he by all rights should have died, and so she had kept the not-so young and resentful man from his 'rightful inheritance' for many years. The new lord had forbid her to travel through his lands (which she ignored as she could disillusion her appearance so that she would not be recognized by his men, while she went about treating his poor tenants). Five years later, when the young lord died from an unattended infected tooth, refusing treatment, his widow (now regent for their young son) declared that 'Rowena the witch' had cursed her husband, and she was to be burned alive if caught. The honourable retirement was no longer available to her. Such were the gratitude and promises of the high-born.

She knew that those who had been her apprentices were well skilled and ready to take their places in her stead; her 15 year-old daughter Helena was among those apprentices, and was her mother's pride, although not always her joy. The younger witch had always been jealous of her mother's reputation, even though Rowena assured her that Helena's skills would soon prove just as praise-worthy and asked her not to begrudge respect gained from a life of work. Helena had been conceived long after Rowena had thought her fertile years were over, and had so neglected to take precautions. Even as a child, the girl had shown a fierce intellect easily the match of her mother, and a hunger for knowledge that made her mother feel like a sluggard, and these gave the older witch much joy. But the girl's jealousy foreboded heartache in the future.

Her apprentices' potions were good and potent, their spells were effective, and they knew that they could handle most things. They also knew that, if she was needed, she would come to their call, wherever they were and wherever she was. Helena seldom asked for help, as this would imply that her own skills were deficient; fortunately, they were seldom found wanting.

Rowena knew that it was nature's way for the old to make room for the young. Her apprentices were fully qualified, and her children grown and out on their own. This poor country did not have the resources to support all of the healers she had trained so well, and her too. It would be a natural thing for her to leave or die, but she was not ready to die, and she really had had nowhere to go. The distant voices now offered a third option.

She called to the distant voices with her mind "What is your will?"

She grinned to herself as she felt the shock in the others at her response. It was apparent that they too could tell the distance between, and were shocked and impressed with her power.

They called back. "We wish to teach young witches and wizards the arts that are their birthrights, but no one had taught them; that so far none could teach them. We wish to have them learn everything they need to know, and everything they wish to know. We wish to gather the most powerful, the most skilled, the most able, and teach the young."

As Rowena thought about how she would answer, she heard another voice coming from far to the east, saying "That sound like a welcome opportunity. I would like join, too. Do you have a place for me keep my pets?"

A/N: Several points in this chapter were inspired (Hollywoodese for blatantly and shamelessly ripped off) from the song 'The Witch of the Westmerland' by Archie Fisher, about which the late great Stan Rogers said "Here is a 500 year old Scottish legend that Archie Fisher made up"


	6. Snake Oil

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

**Chapter 6: Snake Oil**

In the wilds of the Balkans, a swarthy man walked the lands confidently. He went from village to village, selling potions and elixirs which he claimed would do miraculous things. Strangely enough, for the most part, they worked as he said they would. He accompanied his sales pitch with a magic show with strange and wonderful creatures, often with a small dragon flying around the audience.

Even more strangely, whenever the travelling medicine show was in a city where the authorities were adverse to the presence of strangers, whether Gypsy fortune tellers, or more particularly witches and wizards, the flying dragon would explode in a shower of stars, and the potions didn't work very well. The short man would show the local police how he brewed the potions from the local wine, adding honey and herbs and flower petals for taste, and that any power the drink had was simply that it made people feel good.

His father had been a travelling medicine man as well, who had met his mother in his travels far to the south, which accounted for the son's darker skin which was a definite contrast to his father's blonde hair. From his mother, he learned of the odd beans (called by the local natives, ko-fé) from Africa which, when chewed or drunk as an infusion, gave enhanced energy. Salazar often ground up the beans and added them to his potions, to give a sense of improved vigour.

In his travels, his father had walked the Silk Road to the far Chin kingdom, and there had learned the arts of fireworks and distillation, which the son now used for his potions and entertainments. As these were non-magical, he could demonstrate these to suspicious officials, showing that there was no 'dangerous and heretical' magic involved. More smoke and mirrors.

It was said that the man could charm snakes, and he would be called on to chase snakes out of villages, which for some reason had recently become infested with an unusual concentration of the serpents. The man would come into town, and for a fee, stand in the town square and wave a stick while seeming to hiss loudly (supposedly to scare the snakes away). Shortly afterwards, there would be a number of snakes leaving town being chased by the man. Once out of sight, the man would gather up the snakes and proceed to the next town.

Many in those countries told stories of monsters and evil sorcerers. For hundreds of years, priests on one religion would persecute those of another religion, and soothsayers and those claiming magical powers were always thought to be in league with the devil (of one persuasion or another). All sides in these conflicts felt that torturing and burning alive were appropriate punishments for believing the wrong doctrine.

The swarthy man often found himself being checked over by the local authorities, but could always prove that he was just an entertainer and a charlatan, suspicious but harmless. He could hear the thoughts of others, and so could tell if the authorities approaching him meant well or ill. After each inspection, he would wave goodbye to the representatives of the constabulary, usually with a complimentary bottle of his health giving elixir (which was said to do wonders for the libido, and so always 'appreciated' by the local constabulary members). As they left, he would always being smiling, although they couldn't see that he was cursing them under his breath at the same time.

Salazar had found that those in power hated anyone with a power that they themselves could not then control. Those with magic (or 'mugg' in the local dialect of his youth) were feared by the non-magical. Those with little magic (having little 'mugg', they were 'muggle'), more often than not, hated the magical folk. People generally hate what they fear or what they consider a threat. Salazar Slytherin returned this hate in kind. He had watched as his father had been tortured to reveal where he had hidden his magical treasure (a treasure which did not in fact exist, regardless of the delusions of his tormentors).

Salazar always made sure that powerful muggles never even entertained the suspicion that he was more than a trickster. Too many friends and family members had died horribly for him to be comfortable with that possibility.

In a land where people married in their teens, and few saw their fiftieth birthday, many thought it odd that Salazar travelled alone. In some places, this even raised suspicions as to his reliability, as a family man was thought less likely to be a public threat than a single man. However, from his own childhood, the wizard knew that life on the road was a hard life, and did not wish to inflict it on innocent children. He had known women, as the 'hospitality' of a daughter or wife was often the only way a poor family could pay for his services and treatments.

He was happy to 'con' a living from the credulous muggles, while maintaining just a hint of obvious fraud. This way, the authorities 'knew' his powers were just trickery, and nothing they would find sinister. He felt he was making fools of them, or at least helping them make fools of themselves. He also felt that being essentially a carnival sideshow was not what he was meant to do – a wizard of his capabilities was meant for greater things, which he dared not even risk dreaming about under his current living conditions.

Even as he hated muggles as a group, when he had dealings with the peasantry and the poor individually, he took pity on them, and used all his powers and his potions to their benefit. He saw that they were as oppressed as he, and their state of life was not due to their lack of magic, but by the privileges of the powerful. It was among such people that his potions were the most effective.

At the same time, he hated having to hide his true powers. His family had long been able to communicate with animals, particularly those who slithered, and their relatives. His familiar, a Syrian Miniature dragon, had the ability to teleport away just as the wizard released fireworks, making it appear that the little dragon had disappeared in a burst of fire, and thus was just an illusion.

Fortunately, among his powers were the ability to create illusions, and the skill to manipulate matter. He had built himself a fine home in the mountains, carving out great caves for his draconic friends and pets, while casting charms so that the large holes in the hillsides were never noticed. Fortunately, the hills in his Balkan homelands were a soft limestone which was easily carved, so that even the largest of dragons could be comfortably housed. These he constructed for his 'pets', which gained Salazar great respect and gratitude from the proud creatures.

He did not have the power his mother had, to actually go into other minds and probe, but he could hear what people were thinking in the 'front' of their minds. Sometimes he could perceive thoughts behind their consciousness, but only if those were tied to passions which made them hard to hide. He could send his thoughts, if there was another with the capacity to receive them, but he was a passive listener, not a seeker. This talent did give him the ability to learn languages very quickly, but often did not have to rely on what was spoken, as the thoughts were enough.

When 'The Call' came from far to the west, he was ready and anxious. To teach young wizards and witches, to associate with other powerful wizards, to not have to bow and scrape to powerful muggles, to be able to use his powers to their full, to live in a community of magical folk and perhaps have a family without fear for their safety or his inability to support them – it was a dream come true that he had until now not even dared dream. It took him less than five minutes do decide to cast his current life aside, and send back his eager acceptance.


	7. Lessons to be Learned

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

**Chapter 7: Lessons to Be Learned**

Lady Rhonda descended the stairs from the family's private rooms on the third level of the Manor near the town of Godric's Hollow, a village of magical folk located at the edge of her husband's estate in Cornwall that was named for her husband's great-grandfather. As chatelaine of the estate and the house, it was with her responsibility to be sure that guests were comfortable, and it was clear to her that two of their guests were not settling in as she would like. Godric and his guests were meeting in his office on the second floor, adjacent to the guest quarters, and Rhonda could hear voices speaking in high and low pitches, in languages she understood, and a couple that were unfamiliar to her. To her trained ear, she could hear the voices of some of their house elves, who were conversant in many tongues and who were acting as interpreters.

Her family had descended from Cornish royalty, as her twelve-times great grandmother was the famous Morgana La Fey, daughter of Ygraine and Duke Gorlois of Cornwall, and half sister to Arthur the High King of Camelot, some three hundred years before. There was a family rumour that Morgana has known Merlin himself, and that her knowledge may have included the carnal form – if true, Rhonda may herself be a descendant of the most famous wizard and witch in British history.

She laughed to herself at the memory of this old family story, of which the family was at times proud, and at times ashamed. She thought it a great tale to tell around a winter's fire, but nothing more. However, that being said, she was a powerful witch in her own right, and was married to a most puissant wizard.

Rhonda was disturbed that the blonde woman, who had returned from the battlefield with her husband, had not spent more than three nights together in the bedchamber provided to her. Many nights she would sleep in the servant's quarters, and occasionally share the bed of one of the servants. It seemed that the woman cared little of whether the servant was male or female, although there seemed to be little inappropriate goings-on, or at least none that the servant who shared the bed seemed eager to complain of.

This had come to her attention when Martha, a blonde servant woman asked to speak with her. Martha was often asked to provide 'companionship' for visiting dignitaries (as was the custom in Great Houses to offer this form of hospitality to high-born guests), but this had not been the case for the four guests who were coming for Lord Godric's planning meetings. The younger woman had commented that the Norse witch had come to her chamber the night before, and indicate that she wanted to share Martha's bed. The visitor had pointed to herself, and said something that Martha understood to be her name 'Helga Elaine', and then indicated she was cold by holding herself and shaking, while saying 'Kald'. Martha obliged, and was puzzled when nothing of a sexual nature happened. The older witch (for Martha was a witch herself), had just held the younger woman like an adult would hug a troubled child, apparently for warmth and comfort, and at several times in the night Martha woke to find the woman crying.

Martha told her mistress that, although she had no objection to this night-visiting, she was normally not assigned to serve women as her fellow servant, the dark-haired Sarah, was typically given this task, given her preferences. She asked if she was to continue with this service, that she be informed of it beforehand, so that she could better prepare.

Since the swarthy man arrived five nights ago, the older blonde witch had shared his bedchamber at least once, and the two had been seen sleeping in the hayloft above the stables as well.

Lady Rhonda decided that she would speak to Helga that evening. She did not begrudge the woman, nor the man, their search for companionship, but the rejection of the use of the assigned rooms reflected on her duties as hostess, and on the hospitality of the house. To some peoples, hospitality was a sacred duty, and the fact that two of her husband's guest did not seem keen to accept what was offered could be taken as a slight to her own honour. Whether she was not providing adequately for their needs, or they were slighting her, it was an uncomfortable situation that she must resolve.

Lady Rhonda mentioned to Martha that the word she had thought was the name 'Elaine' was more likely the Norse word for 'alone', or 'lonely', which would make more sense given what transpired (or rather, did not happen) in the night.

Rhonda had spoken at length with the two Welsh witches who had come to answer Godric's call, as they were all Master Healers, and they spent several hours discussing Arabic healing charms as opposed to those used in Christendom, what were the latest findings on herbal potions, and other technical matters. But she had not had an opportunity to sit with the Norse witch which her husband had brought home from the wars, and get to know her to any degree.

While his wife was mulling over these thoughts, the lord of the manor was having his own issues with his guests. Given their diverse origins, one of the first items of business was that of language.

Gryffindor himself was proficient in several languages, having travelled widely in his study of the military arts. In Constantinople, he had learned Latin and Greek, while in Al Andalus, he had come to be fluent in Arabic and Spanish. In the Norse lands, he learned several dialects of Norse which would evolve into separate languages in the future (although in the yet-to-be-discovered Iceland, the language would remain little changed with time due to its isolation).

From their own upbringing, both Godric and Rhonda were fluent in Cornish and Welsh, as well as having some proficiency in the northern Celtic tongues and the recently arrived Saxon speech.

However, the native language of their guest from the east was foreign to their ears. Godric had spent his time in the east in the high courts, and had not learned the languages of the common folk of those parts. On his part, Salazar Slytherin had very limited Latin from his dealings with high officials and clergy in his homeland, but whose own speech seemed a combination of Norse (from the Viking traders coming down from what in the future would be Russia) and Greek; he had also travelled to the far south, and spoke some Egyptian and Nubian, which was of no help to the others.

The Norse witch spoke no Latin, nor any other southern language, while the two Welsh witches (an elderly witch and her comely daughter who had accompanied the old woman for the travelling but had left after a couple of days seeing her mother well settled and comfortable, to resume her own healing work in their homeland to the north), spoke Welsh, Celtic, and ecclesiastical Latin (learned from the itinerant Irish monks), but none of the Latin of warriors.

After it was found that Godric's elves could compensate for a lack of a common language between the four, and thus the ability to communicate clearly was established, the lord of the manor took them on a tour of the estate to show them the buildings he proposed to use for the new school. After looking at the fairly spacious outbuildings, Godric was rather disappointed when his three guests all started shaking their heads.

Helga looked at the buildings, and stated "No great hall for feasting. No lake for learning sailing boats. No water for mermaids and sea creatures." Rowena nodded to the younger witch and said "No forest – we need a forest for centaurs, unicorns, thestrals, and such. Nargles need old oak trees with mistletoe. Pegusi need large elms for their nests. Also, the buildings have no towers for astronomy studies. However, good fertile fields for plants for potions. Not all bad."

Salazar looked at the open fields around the manor and the buildings, and shook his head, looking very worried. "No mountains for dragons and griffons to nest in. Must have place for dragons. No place for goblin mines – need minings if want goblins' helping. Maybe need place to hold and punish misbehaves, yes?"

"More important, no way to defend. Buildings too small for protection when muggles come – no towers or strong walls."

Godric asked, "What do you mean, 'When muggles come'? Why would they come?" The fact that he didn't have a clue what muggles were could wait until later – the fact that Slytherin considered them a serious threat brought out the old warrior in him. You dealt with an imminent threat first, then you figured out just what it was at your leisure.

Salazar turned to their host, with a worried look. "All my life, muggles hate muggniks. They jealous they not have mugg. If and when they can, they kill muggniks. Here you want bring lots muggniks, who not know how to use their mugg for defend. No good. Must have walls, powerful wards, maybe muggle repell spells, notice-me-not. For strong spells need rock around place, like at home in mountains."

Godric frowned, and asked "You mentioned 'muggles', and 'mugg'. I do not know these words. Can you explain?"

Slytherin nodded. "These powers we have. In my homeland, they are called 'mugg', what here you calling 'magic'. Those with mugg are 'muggnik'. They who have no mugg, they are 'muggle' – means 'little mugg'."

Godric nodded. "I understand. You see a threat. I have never had any problem with the non-magicals you call muggles, but you have and I respect that."

The swarthy wizard smiled. "You not having problem. You having big army. So, no problem!"

Gryffindor nodded. "A very good point. Very well. We need a different location, with a good sized forest" (Rowena nodded), "a good lake, possibly with a connection to the sea" (Helga nodded), "and mountains and heavy walls for protection." With this, Salazar also nodded.

Godric thought for a moment. "I have an estate to the north in the land of the Scots, which was given to me by the king of that land for helping in one of his wars. It is in a hidden valley with a small village of wizarding folk nearby, who are hidden from most people by protective spells. We can use that. The land had a small castle, which we could expand - I am no great seer, but when I thought of that place, I could perceive that many years in the future the place would be successful and have several hundred students. The castle is not big enough for that number now, but it could be expanded by adding halls and towers. There is a large forest, and a lake that connects to the sea. Here, I will draw a picture of what I think it could look like. I know I am no artist, but ..."

He picked up a stick from the ground, and using it as a wand, gestured towards a clear spot of ground, sketching the rough shape of a castle with short towers on the sides. Once the basic shapes were drawn, he gestured with the wand and the towers grew in height from the body of main hall. Salazar looked at the drawing and started to laugh.

Godric frowned and looked rather insulted. "Sir, I know I am no great draughtsman, but it is not _that_ bad. You need not laugh at my sorry attempt."

Salazar shook his head and smiled. "Your pardon, my lord. I am sorry. One time, many years ago, I travel to the far south into Africa. There is very funny-looking and very stupid animal that looks like hog (pig, no?), but with great bumps on its face, like the bad infection bumps people get on hands and feet. I not know what bumps called in your language. Ladies, you treat with sour wine you boil to strongness. What you call, please?"

Mistress Ravenclaw thought for a moment. "Sour wine... _vino acidus, acetum..._ Ah, we call that vinegar. You boil it to a strong acid to treat... ah, warts!"

Salazar said "Ah yes. Warts on hog. Yes."

Godric laughed. "So you are saying 'our 'castle' looks like a hog's warts. Well then. Hogwarts it shall be called!" The group all laughed at this less than auspicious naming.

Helga looked admiringly at Godric, and did a deep curtsey. "My Lord Gryffindor, it shall be as you say, 'Hogwarts'."

Godric nodded, but added, "My lady Helga, I asked that we need not use my title between us. We are equals here."

The Welsh witch shook her head. "No, my lord, you have just shown us what the world sees and what it will continue to see. You are a high-born lord of a great family, while we are all poor peasants. Perhaps in the future when we have taught at your school for many years, we will be seen as equals, as founders of the school, but you have just shown us what many will see, and what I fear we will see in the future, to our detriment and sorrow."

The Cornish wizard looked puzzled. "Lady Rowena, I do not understand. What have I done that so offends you? I am most sorry if I have caused you distress."

Rowena shook her head. "My lord, my only distress is that you see not the problem. You just donated land and holdings for the school. This is something none of us could ever do. No matter how grateful the high-born would be for my services, and I suspect those of Helga and Salazar, we would never own land, and certainly not enough that we could give away land without a second thought, as you have just done."

"My lord, the rich and powerful will always look down on the poor. They will assume that they are better. They will even call themselves 'the betters' of the poor. This is the way of the world. You value people solely for their abilities, not their birth or wealth. You are rare in this world, my lord, very rare."

"I see in the future, wizards and witches who are from families with a long history of magic will look down on those whose families are new to our powers, what our friend here would call muggle-born. They will forget that magic comes to anyone, not just the offspring of the magical. I know of magical children born of those with no magic, and those of magical parents who are no different than the non-magical folk living around them. I foresee magical families believing that they are better than others, because they had a powerful witch or wizard as a great-grandparent, even though their own abilities and powers are insignificant."

"My lord, the powerful look down on the weak and will oppress them if they can. From talking with Master Salazar, there are those in his land who, because of their religious beliefs in a certain god, believe that they have the full authority from that god and _of_ that god to run the lives of others, and to kill those who disagree. The rich and powerful look down on the poor and the weak– that is the way it has always been! The hatred of others is part of being human."

"And, my lord, in many places, you would slay me for speaking to you in this way, and none would gainsay you for that act. It would be seen as a peasant trying to rise 'above her station', and so being deserving of punishment, even death!"

Godric stood stunned. "My lady Rowena, I see your point. Privilege is often invisible those who have it. I must watch what assumptions I make. We will need to watch for these attitudes and prejudices, and act to counter these ideas."

Salazar shook his head. "My lord, my friend Godric. Is not just ideas. Is just truth and they way of people. We can try to prevent, but it will happen. Is just nature – the predator preys on the weak. We are top predator, and will accept no competition. We kill bears, wolves and lions, and any other threat. Other humans are threat, some more than others. You have spent your life proving to be better predator than your enemies. Problem is when sons of predator believe they have the _right_ to be on top, and that because they are on top, they have the rights over _all_ parts of lifes. Such thinkings are why lady Helga's daughter is now being treated by your lady wife and lady Rowena, to try mend old hurts."

Godric nodded, recognizing that this lesson was for him, that it was not just something in the future, but had touched these people in very personal ways.

Later that evening, after they had dined, Lady Rhonda asked to speak with Helga.

The Norse witch agreed, and with a curtsey, asked "My lady, how may I be of service?"

Rhonda returned the curtsey, to Helga's surprise, and said, "Lady Helga, it is I who wish to be of service to you. I am informed that the bedchamber you have been given is not to your liking. As the lady of the house, it is my responsibility to see that our guests are well cared for. Is the bed not comfortable? Is the fire not well stoked? Please tell me how I can better provide for your wants."

Helga smiled, and said "My lady, you have given me more than my wants. You have given me a splendid large room, with a large fireplace, and a chest which can hold more clothes than I have ever owned. My lady, I am a poor peasant woman from a poor and cold northern country. All my life, I have lived in a tiny cottage with but one room. When I was a child, all the children slept in the same bed, while my parents slept across the same room where we ate and spent our lives. There was little wood for heat, so we huddled together and cuddled up for warmth. Since I became a warrior witch, I have slept in an open boat with fifty men, or in tents by the battlefield. There were few other women, but I slept with them or with women and men. I can see the presence of the Valkyries around the field where men that I knew were going to die the next day, and sometimes, at least since I became a widow and so owed no further service to my husband, I would ease their passing by sending them out into battle with at least a smile on their face."

"You know, my lady, I often thought that Odin's warrior maidens got it wrong, and that they should be taking the ones who did _not_ get killed. But our priests told us that the goddesses took the ones who would have been victorious, but for the intervention of the Valkyrie who took them. Around the campfires, it was often said that the story of the Valkyries was lies told by the priests just to ease the sorrow of the wives and families of the dead; stories that they fell because the gods wanted them in Valhalla to fight on the final day and that they were feasting with the great heroes and not just feeding the crows. But of course, that is blasphemy."

"My lady, the only problem with the room you have given me is that it is _too_ large, it is _too_ empty, it is _too_ quiet, it is too _lonely_. It is _too much_. I mean this as no slight to you and yours, as you have treated me with kindness beyond my dreams or right to expect."

"I would have shared the bed of your husband, as he took me in battle, and so I am forever his servant and slave even if he denies it. However, he has told me that he has no wish for me to do so, because of his loyalty to you, my lady. This loyalty I respect with all my heart – it is rare in a warrior, and so even more to be valued. Therefore, I seek a smaller, more humble bed elsewhere, and such companionship as I can find. I did not mean to disturb your house by this."

"If it is not too much a slight to your hospitality, may I ask for a small room? I would be happy to share with one of your servants, if they would agree (I do not wish to impose on their privacy either, although I may have upset your blonde serving woman, with her blonde hair, she looks something like my daughter). I have found that Master Slytherin has accepted my presence but I do not wish to impose on him either. I do not ask for the sleeping of a husband and wife, just another person near. If you have a companionable dog, that would be enough."

Rhonda looked at Helga with a puzzled expression. "A dog? You want to sleep with a dog?"

Helga smiled, "Dogs are very loyal creatures. They ask no questions and they think you are the greatest thing in their world. They are very comforting. When you are a peasant far from the house of your lord, they can be protection – you want to keep your protection close, and in one room, there is often only one place to sleep."

"My lady, I have no carnal desires for a dog. Since my husband met his Valkyrie, and your husband captured me, I have been alone. I have lived with death most of my life. I would find comfort in having another soul, another creature with me. For warmth, perhaps. Often, it is just the sound of another living creature breathing near me that gives me comfort."

Rhonda asked, "Do you believe that dogs have souls? Is that part of your religion? The Christian preachers say that animals have no souls."

Helga smiled. My lady, many of those same Christian preachers say that we women do not have souls either. And then we say we should accept their teachings in order to save our souls. How can they save what they say does not exist?"

"I do not know what a soul is. You cannot see it or taste it or smell it. I do not know if I have one, and I do not really care. Does a dog have a soul? I do not know that either. But they have love and loyalty and intelligence, and a love of life. They are alive, and they know it, and rejoice in it. If that is not having a soul, perhaps having a soul is something of little consequence. I know that many would call such thoughts heresy, but I care little for religion."

Rhonda was shocked. "You do not believe the teachings of the Christ, or even the teachings of your own religion?"

Helga shook her head. "I have heard the travelling monks tell of the teachings of Christ, and they sound very nice. But then I see the behaviour of most of those who claim to follow Christ. I have heard of, and met, people to the far south in our sailings, who follow the teachings of this new desert prophet. Both claim that theirs is a religion of peace, but they all use the sword to spread the so-called 'word-of-god'. At least in the religion I grew up with, they were less hypocritical about their love of war. I would prefer if those doing the raping and looting and pillaging were just a little more honest about what they _really_ believe."

"So no, I do not really '_believe_'. I do know that people are born, they live and they die, and that if you can find a little happiness along the way, that is as much as a poor woman can ask. Whether of the gods, or of other people. So, if you happen to have a spare dog around, that would be a kind comfort to me."

Rhonda nodded. "I think I understand. I too have had many lonely nights while my lord husband was away at his wars. I would lie in bed, listening to his far-distant thoughts, and knowing that at least for one more day, I was not a widow. I had my household around me, the hustle-bustle of daily tasks, but in the dark, I was alone. He would send letters to me by his magnificent snowy owl, calling me his 'Penelope', patiently waiting for her lord to return from his wars – this did not help, as the fabled Penelope had to wait for twenty years, and I was not prepared to be that patient. But I could not control such things, and so I waited. Alone."

Rhonda stood and hugged the younger woman, whispering to her that she would see what she could arrange.


	8. Lessons to be Taught

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: T - No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do.

**Chapter 8: Lessons to Be Taught**

Starting to discuss what topics and branches of magic would be taught at the new school, the southern wizard brought up a very important point.

Slytherin asked "My Lord, and ladies, why would anyone come to this school we are speaking of? You are asking young men and women, whom their families are likely depending on for work and sustenance and support of their aged parents, to leave their homes for several years. I can understand this for high-born or rich families, but for those of low birth, we would have to offer something of very tangible value. They will be at an age when they would be starting families, or working their farms or trades, and we want them to come and learn with us. Of what value will this learning be to them, and how are they going to pay for the learning, for the place where we are to teach, and for us. We must eat also, and the school will need upkeep."

"My Lord, you come from a great family, with estates and property. You served as a warrior, risking your life for others. You were paid, and I assume paid well, for this service. But your fees came from the king or other lords, who got their wealth from the sweat of their serfs."

"This school will not be like a great estate, where the tenant farmers pay for the luxuries of the Lord and his family and his court. I do not think it will be like the churches and monasteries, where the faithful of the neighbourhood tithe to support the idleness or the so-called holy contemplation of the clergy. How will these peasant witches and wizards pay for us to teach them? And why should they do so? If this project is to go forth, and I _do_ wish it to go forth, our teaching must be of very great value to them. Otherwise, for all our good intentions, they will not come."

"I would like to see that those we tech are not only from the rich. Three of us are from the poor. We must be available to those like us. Those _we_ have come from. Not just those who can pay handsomely."

"My Lord and my ladies, we must give them teaching that will be of great value. I have spent many years using my magics to entertain muggles. It is a way to earn a living, but it is not a great living, nor is it a respected living. I have as much respect as that given musicians and whores. I wish more than this. We four have great powers, much mugg, but are we respected for these powers? Not really. I would like to be respected at least once before I die. I wish to have respect, to have safety, to have some power. Is not much ambition, but is ambition nonetheless."

Rowena nodded. "I would like that respect also, some safety and security in my old age, and a warm bed. My lord, the rich have their estates to support them. We poor folk do not. When I die, I would rather it come at the end of a full life, and not from starvation. Master Slytherin is right. What we teach must have value to our students."

"I suggest that one of our focuses of study be the healing arts. Potion making, raising plants which are needed for healing, astronomy for tell the times to plant and harvest for greatest potency, spells to bind wounds and heal bones. There is _good_ value in that."

Gryffindor nodded and said "Very good ideas, Lady Ravenclaw. I know Lady Hufflepuff is also a healer, as is my wife, who can assist in this work."

"For myself, I fear that what I have to teach will be of value to kings and princes, but is in direct contradiction to what you propose. I would teach the arts of war. Spells to defeat your enemies, spells to defend against their spells. Spells to transfigure object so you can hide, or make weapons when you need them. Lady Hufflepuff, I know you are very skilled in the defensive arts yourself, as well."

"However, there are some spells I refuse to teach. There is a spell to torture. I will not teach that, and I will not allow that to be taught by any around me."

Rowena asked "What about the killing spells, my lord? I have seen many. I know that death is part of life, but dealing death is against everything I have worked for in my life. We all know it is often the intent which makes magic good or bad, not just the action of the spell."

Godric nodded sadly. "There are spells to kill, which we use in war. There are killing spells we use when an injured warrior is going to die in pain, and it is used to ease his way. There is one I have always refused, which is used to kill the defenceless – there is not spell to protect from it, and I have found that it harms the spirit of the one casting it, as much as it destroys the one it is cast at. Anyone who casts such spells will be turned from any door where I have any authority. Oh, I think that means it would be useful if we have a hospital room as part of the school, with a full time healer. Some of the war magic gets a little rough."

Helga Hufflepuff asked, "Can anyone else fly, or move from place to place quickly? I can sit on a broom and get around quickly – better than walking. I was taught to ride a broom when I was little– every house has a broom, so it was a convenient way to get around in my mountainous homeland."

Rowena and Salazar nodded. The Welsh witch said "I can 'jump' from place to place, if I know the place I am going to, or there is someone there to send me their thoughts and act as a beacon or anchor. But I cannot ride a broom. I have tried, but it was not to be."

The southerner nodded, "This I can also do. I need to know where I am going, but if I can hear the thoughts of someone there, can do. My mother could fly on broom, but I never learn that skill. In my homeland, it was very dangerous to be seen doing something like flying. Powerful people say, 'Look at little Salazar. He fly on broom. Humph. Unnatural! Possessed by demons! Must torture or burn demons out of him!', so I did not have desire to learn."

"Anyone read thinks? Not just hear what they want to send, like Godric and Helga did those months ago, and Rowena and I responded. But read in depth – go into mind?"

Godric nodded, "I was taught how to do this, but I found it was very distasteful, because it was used to interrogate prisoners who were often being tortured. It was painful for them and for me, as I found I felt _their_ pain in my own body."

Rowena nodded. "There are times when someone is injured badly, and they cannot speak. Sometimes you need to go inside their minds to find out what happened – what poisonous plant they ate, or what kind of snake bit them. Sometimes you need to know- we have had lots of snake since that Christian chased them out of Hibernia, and some survived the crossing of the sea."

Godric asked, "How about changing things from one thing to another? I can do this to a limited degree, but some of my army were very skilled in this art. Changing a spear into a sword, changing stagnant water into good water fit to drink. Useful skills for a soldier in the field. "

Salazar smiled, "This I am very good at. Also good for entertaining muggles. Change water into strong drink. Change one clothes into other clothes – put man into dress, woman into men's breeches, like that. Much laughing. Also, good for working buildings, like you showed with drawing of school castle. Can make towers grow, and dig out tunnels and caves for rooms – rooms underground easier to keep warm in winter than on upper floors of stone buildings. Also better for making housings for beasts, cattle, sheeps, horses, _other_ creatures."

Godric looked at the three and asked "How about changing yourself?"

Rowena smiled "I have only a limited ability in that way. But from the look on your face, my lord Godric, you are an expert."

The wizard transformed into his lion form, gave a couple roars, ran around the yard where they were sitting in the autumn afternoon, and then resumed his normal appearance and his chair. He smiled and said, "Yes, I am."

Salazar looked at the group. "Speaking of animals, how about _care_ of creatures? Skrewts, bowtruckle, centaurs, unicorns, ...dragons?"

Rowena smiled. "It has been my honour to have worked with centaurs. They would be very offended that you would speak of them in the same breath as other creatures. They are a very proud people. I have worked with the small Welsh Red dragons, but not with any larger ones, or the other beasts you mention. I gather you are familiar with them?"

Slytherin nodded. "I get along very well with dragons. Building caves for homes, they appreciating. Less work for them, not having to break claws on hard rock, happy all around."

The conversation continued for hours, and then Godric asked, "What skills do you see that we will need to teach, that the four of us cannot. What other teachers will we need?"

Rowena thought for a moment. "Study of plants, and astronomy. I have some limited skill with plants for potions, but there is much more to that area of knowledge that I do not have. I know some basic stars and reckoning of the seasons, but for divination and specifics for planting and harvests, we will need someone more skilled than I."

Salazar spoke with a worried look on his countenance. "We spoke of hearing thoughts. We need to teach the blocking of such hearing. Many times someone, like lady Rowena, wants to hear thought you do not want to share. If person wanting thoughts is not as nice as friend Rowena, is not good. I have some skill in this, from years of being questioned by suspicious authorities, but these mostly muggles. If they had a skilled mind-reader, I would not be able. "

Helga spoke next "We need someone who can invent new spells. The world changes. We have spoken of the time of the Romans, and what has changed since those days. There are people who are coming up with new ideas, new machines. Godric, you spoke of travelling to the land of the Moors, where they have many new inventions. We need to be able to come up with new spells in a similar way. The defensive spells which I used will someday be insufficient – the most inventive people always seem to be working on new ways to kill people. We need to learn how to find new ways to protect them. I do not know what skills you would need to invent new spells, but we need that ability."

Rowena raised a finger as she thought about the protective spells. "Can anyone else cast a _patronus_ charm?" As the others shook their heads, she added, "It is a charm which creates a protective image, usually an animal shape, which can chase off evil spirits, or go to another person with a message. A strong one can even chase of a dementor." Helga nodded "I _do_ know this charm, but in a different way, by a different name. At home, we do not use Latin name for this charm. We call it the 'Verndari', it means protector. Most often, women, witches, learn this to protect themselves from brigands if they have to travel alone. Friend Rowena, is this your experience as well?" The Welsh witch nodded. "

Godric asked, "Would you please show us this spell?"

Rowena drew her wand and declared "_Expecto Patronem_!", and a large silver bird leapt from the tip of her wand, shining in the sunlight. It flew around the gathering, who were sitting on the lawn of the manor house, and seeing no apparent threats, returned to the tip of Rowena's wand where it seemed to sucked back into her tool.

Helga clapped her hands. "Beautiful, beautiful, Rowena! For this, I did not learn with a wand, so..." She held her hands out in front of her, facing forward, declaring "Verndar, verndar!" and a large silver weasel-like creature appeared in front of her. The animal looked around, growling fiercely, and seeing no threat, seemed to shrug, and then evaporate into a thin mist. Rowena smiled and applauded "Helga, yours is a badger! Excellent. They are powerful and fierce creatures. A worthy protector!"

Godric looked at Helga and asked, "Mistress Helga, you did not use a wand. Is all your magic done without a wand?"

"Helga smiled. "My land has few trees which are good for wand making. That is one reason why we took to ships raid far to the south. Our shamans and priests told our kings 'we need such-and-such wood for our religious ceremonies and for our magic. Go to such-and-such a place and take what we need.' So our kings sent out the longships. For those of us without the connections to get the rare prized artefacts, we learn to do magic without them."

Salazar smiled, and said "Also in my land, I learned not to use a wand. Makes authorities unhappy. Not good to have unhappy police." He then looked puzzled "What is 'dementor', please?"

Rowena looked sad, as she recalled her experiences with the foul creatures. "They are a spirit, which sucks all the joy from your life. They can attack, and their kiss sucks your soul from your body. Evil wizards use them to attack their victims." Salazar nodded, "At home we call these tax collectors. I must learn your _patronus_ to scare them away." Rowena laughed and said "Thank you for lightening the mood, friend Salazar, but you will need the _patronus_ if you ever meet one. I have heard a story, a rumour really, that they are actually the souls of dead Roman soldiers still trying to conquer the world ears after their own deaths."

In an attempt to raise the spirits, Godric said, "Well, we have decided what we need to do at the school. How are we going to organize the students?"

Helga smiled and said "My lord, it has been your idea for some time. I am sure you have some thoughts. Please tell us, and we will think them over."

The old warrior sat back and said "We will need to provide food and lodging for our students, and for ourselves and our staff as well. As Master Slytherin says, we will need to have protection from evil, and some form of discipline. We need to make sure that they learn that we value ability and character, not wealth or rank – they will get enough of that at their homes."

"We will need to have some sort of administration to arrange for these matters. As a general is as much an administrator as a warrior, I have some experience in this area, but I would be happy to be a teacher and pass this task to others."

"I think we will also want to take the most promising students as our personal apprentices, to teach to a higher level of mastery. This will provide an incentive to come to the school, to get the best teaching for those with the greatest promise from those with the greatest ability and power."

"We also need to foster healthy competition between students, but in a controlled environment. They will need to learn that losing your first battle need not be your last, as is often the case in a real battle, and that a safe defeat motivates you to learning enough to win the next time. Sports, intellectual contests, duelling, things like that. We also need them to learn to work together in teams or as a family. Therefore, I suggest we separate the students into groups who will work together for their mutual benefit, and compete as groups against each other."

"In the outside world, you see kings and lords competing, one against the other, with their armies. Noble houses compete against each other for the favour of their overlords."

"I think we could separate new students into something like noble houses, where each of us would act as a sponsor for their development. This would allow us to select students that have potentials we personally value most, who we see as having the potential to move on to being our apprentices."

"Anyway, those are my thoughts for the moment. As it is time for our evening meal, I ask that you think it over, and we will discuss more tomorrow. All right?"

Helga interrupted, and said "Before we go to sup, I wonder how we are going to find our students? Many cannot hear our mind-call, many cannot read writing, both rich and poor. If we send messages to wizards we know, many may think they already know all there is to know, or that they are the best teachers, and will refuse to pass our messages to those we seek."

Salazar thought for a moment, and said "Do any of you know _scriptomancy_? Is magic of writing to find the future, or find 'knowings' that cannot otherwise know. My mother was from the south of my land, and learned in Egypt from some whose family had been scribes to Pharaohs. She taught me some. Maybe write magic book to find children with mugg. No?"

Helga nodded. "I learned some from the rune masters in my country. Perhaps we can work together and see what we can do ourselves, or seek those who are masters, but are now in hiding."

After supper, Lady Rhonda asked to meet with Helga again. The two women walked together out to one of the farm buildings, from which there could be heard some sporadic gentle yipping. Holding the lantern for her guest, Lady Rhonda led Helga to a corner where a large black and white sheep-dog was nursing seven large puppies. The mother dog raised her head, and looked at the two witches, and sort-of growled "Gronna?" Rhonda smiled and said "Yes Duchess, it is me, and this is Helga." The dog looked at the blonde witch and quietly said "Egga?" Rhonda nodded.

She turned to her guest, and said, "Our sheepdogs are somewhat magical themselves, and have some ability to speak, although it takes some time to understand them well. If you have the ability to hear thoughts, they can communicate without speech. Duchess's pups are almost weaned, and we are hoping for good homes. They are excellent sheepdogs, and they bond with their woolly charges, so that each sheep know which dog she or he is to obey, and the dogs all know their own sheep. But we do not have enough sheep to keep them all happily employed. They get bored if they do not have enough to do, although I am not sure how one would be able to get bored if you consort with sheep – I would think working with sheep, you would have to be immune to boredom."

"They are also most excellent companions, being extremely loyal, which I understand you value. I thought that you would like to meet the pups and see if there is one or two that you would like for your own."

Helga was touched by this offer. She knelt down and reached to scratch Duchess' head, greeting the mother dog, who blinked her eyes and nodded her acceptance of the head-scratching. Helga asked the dog if she could touch the pups, and the matronly animal nodded again. Several of the puppies had finished feeding, and looked around with sleepy eyes and bulging tummies. One of the pudgy furballs waddled over to Helga, and looking into her eyes, reached up to lick her face. Helga's eyes brightened and she petted the pup's back, and turning to Rhonda, said "She says her name is Susan, and my curly hair looks like a sheep, but that I only have two legs which is strange for a sheep, but she thinks that should be fine as long as her mum says it's okay. She says she would like to have me as her sheep." Turning back to the pup with tears in her eyes, the witch said "I would like that too, Susan. Thank you". She looked at Duchess, who seemed to smile as she blinked her eyes and nodded gently. Helga bowed slightly to the mother dog, and said "Thank you Duchess", and turning back to Rhonda "And, my Lady, thank you!"


	9. Accord and Discord

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: K+ No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do. I do not have any claim to the characters created by J.R. Rowling and am receiving no recompense for this story other than the enjoyment of imagining it.

**Chapter 9: Accord and Discord**

The chieftain received the news with a mixture of joy, annoyance, relief, and puzzlement. At heart, Holgrim the Ugly was a simple man, and disliked puzzles that could not be solved with either a battle-axe or a dagger. He cared little that his nickname spoke more to his character than his appearance.

Holgrim had not been the eldest son of his father, Gunter the Glutton, but the real key to inheriting the chieftainship was to survive long enough to inherit. The five sons with prior claim had all fallen in battle before their father expired, and after a battle it is _so_ difficult to determine where the fatal injuries originated.

The messenger bringing the news was the youngest son of one of his chief allies, and could be trusted to speak the truth, as far as any man could be trusted. He told of several noble hostages who would require being ransomed, of the fall and live capture of their shield witch, the retirement of the Cornish general, and the strange ransom demand.

The first item of news annoyed Holgrim mightily. He thought to himself that he should just leave the incompetent bastards in the hands of his enemies. They were supposed to bring him riches and booty from afar, not cost him treasure and prestige! However, those to be ransomed were his own sons and the sons of his allies. As he knew that he was more feared than respected, it was just too costly to let his allies think that he did not value their kin enough to ransom them, and it definitely would not do to let his other sons get the idea that their odds of survival would be better if their father made the trip to Valhalla a bit earlier than he might like – after all, that is how he became chief himself.

The news that Gryffindor was retiring was good news. Every time Holgrim's men went into battle, and the Cornishman was on the other side, things did not go well. The Norseman believed that it was the quality of the leader alone which determined the outcome of a battle, not that of his subordinates. Without Gryffindor, Britain should become easy pickings again.

The fall and capture of the witch, and the ransom request for her daughter and son-in-law was the puzzle. The loss of the witch was of no consequence – she was a peasant, and for the last year had not bothered to protect herself, as a dutiful warrior should. The fact that Gryffindor had captured her alive and now wanted her daughter as well was strange, as Holgrim had heard that the man's tastes were for redheads, not blondes. Maybe in his retirement, he wanted some variety. If so, he was in for disappointment, as the daughter had certainly shown no talent for pleasing a man when he exercised his rights as her lord and took her on her wedding night.

Maybe, if Gryffindor wanted the daughter and her worthless goatherd of a husband so much, Holgrim could bargain down the ransom demands from their usual levels. He would lose two useless peasants, and save a bit of cash. This might work out after all.

Rowena Ravenclaw called for a meeting of her associates. She announced that one of her oldest and dearest friends had sent her a message, which had caused her some concern and confusion, and which she thought the others needed to be made aware of.

When the four had gathered in Godric's office, she pulled out the scroll which her friend had sent. She said, "I asked you all here to take a look at this. Marsha of the Marshlands is an old friend and a bard, and Keeper of Records for the royal Welsh court. She recently came across this, which has been called 'The Last Prophecies of Taliesin' – he was a bard some four hundred years ago, who was also known as a seer and foretelling of the future. Many of his prophecies have come to pass, but no one knew _what_ these foretold. I told Marsha of our plans, and she thought the first part might just apply to us; as to the second part, well, who knows what _that_ means. I don't know if she is correct, but I thought I must bring it to the attention of all."

"The first prophecy states:

_Four with much power will come to one place, a hidden place in the high lands to the north, beyond the emperor's wall. They will offer what has not been offered before, and many hundreds will come to their call to take what they offer. They will gain great renown for this great work."_

"Now, that's the first one. Taliesin made two prophecies at the same time, and implied that the two were somehow connected. Here it is.

_Many years hence, when men have harnessed the lightning to do their bidding, and the non-magical can fly, from the loins of one will come a man of great darkness, so dark that no one will dare speak his name. He will come from a family who are proud of their heritage, forgetting the greatness comes not from lineage, but from great and noble deeds._

_From the loins of the four will come another, who will be raised ignorant of his heritage, but who in his youth will vanquish the dark one."_

Salazar Slytherin nodded. "If this does speak of our work here, I think we will need a bigger dining room for 'hundreds' he tells off. More beds, bigger kitchens. Muggles flying, indeed. Hah!"

The others laughed, and then Godric said thoughtfully, "We will also need a more effective way to select where to place the incoming students. Any ideas?"

Helga pursed her lips in thought, "Maybe what we need is a ceremony. A rite-of-passage, as it were. If Hogwarts is to be a place of 'great renown', if we _can_ take the prophecy to mean our efforts here, we may want to make a show of welcoming new students."

Godric nodded. "Great idea. In the army, whenever a soldier was promoted, we made a show of his elevation. For officers, each rank had a particular style of helmet, and the newly promoted officer was seated in front of the troops, and his new helmet was put onto his head."

Rowena added, "Maybe we can enchant a hat with certain mind-reading spells, and have it assign students to our 'houses', based on their characters. It would save us the time of interviewing every student."

Godric nodded. "When I was little, my grandfather had an old hat that he said could tell whether the wearer was a wizard or not. He said if you were not a wizard, the hat would jump off your head. I don't know whether it works, but it stayed on my head, and I was happy. It could just be Grandfather's telling a tall tale, but I still have the hat. Let's try it and see if it can work. I suggest we check with the staff, and see what enchantments we all can come up with which could make this work. Otherwise, if we have hundreds of students, we will be spending our entire year just sorting the students out, and not teaching them a thing."

"Whether or not the first part of the prophecy has to do with us, I suggest we do increase the size of the buildings. It will be more impressive that way, and allow us to expand what schooling we offer, having more classrooms and facilities. As to the second part of the prophecy, I suggest we make note of it for the headmasters in the future, but it sounds like nothing that will happen in our life-times."

Phillipe de Boisvin, Vicomte de Bergerac and chief wizard to the Duke of Aquitaine, received the new of Gryffindor's retirement with no great joy or alarm. He knew the time came to every man to step out of the way for the young, and the life of a warrior was a hard one. The news that Gryffindor was to open a school was of much greater interest.

His second son, Marcel, Baron de Le Bugue et Sarlat, was a competent captain of men, but seemed to lack either the mental outlook or the training to make the next step to become a general, and maybe even a Marshal. A year or two under the renowned general's tutelage should substantially improve the young man's prospects.

Phillipe had heard that Gryffindor was to be assisted by three others, but this was of no consequence. Word was that the others were all of the peasant class, and so were of no importance - the idea that peasants could be put in charge of teaching men of noble birth was simply laughable. He was certain that it was Gryffindor who would be in charge, as he had always been in battle.

The longship pulled into the agreed harbour on the east coast of the island of Britain. Aboard with the crew of Norse warrior/sailors was a substantial amount of gold and other treasures including skilfully made artefacts, and two young people with blonde hair. In spite of their chief's distain for the status of the young couple and for their role in the coming transactions, they had been treated well, as many of the warriors had fought alongside the woman's mother, and felt that they owed their lives to her protective spells and healing skills – life-debts were things a Norse warrior did not forget, regardless of the opinions of their chief.

The ship was met by a party of British warriors, who carried their arms in a relaxed manner, as this was an exchange of goods and hostages, and not the start of hostilities. The fact that they had arrived and remained armed just indicated common sense when long-time adversaries met.

Among the shore party were three women of middle age, and a tall redheaded man who carried himself with obvious authority. Of the women, one had bright red hair, one had hair of red going to the grey-blonde common for older red-haired people, and one was a blonde very well-known to the young couple on the ship.

Once the ship had weighed anchor, and the couple disembarked, the young woman was swept into her mother's embrace, and kisses were exchanged. The young man was welcome with a hug nearly as intense at that his wife had just received, and then the older blonde woman turned to her companions.

"My Lord, I wish to present my daughter Astrid, and her husband Björn, son of Helmhart. Astrid, Björn, these good folk are Lord Godric Gryffindor (the tall man nodded and extended his hand in greeting), his wife the Lady Rhonda (she nodded, and embraced the young couple), and Mistress Rowena (who also embraced the young couple in welcome).

Björn was stunned at the warmth of their greeting, even more so because a man of obviously noble rank had offered his hand to a peasant in welcome. He was also puzzled in that the man was dressed, not in rich robes befitting his rank and having a crest the same as the banner displayed behind the armed men, but in a simple black silk robe adorned with an odd crest showing a lion, an eagle, a snake and a badger. Two of the women (his mother-in-law Helga, and the older greying witch) and the more swarthy shorter man were dressed in similar robes, while the armed men worn robes or bore shields proclaiming their rank, families and allegiances. He knew that his freedom from his chieftain was due to an odd request which had been part of the ransom demands for the men now embarking on the longship for the long sea journey home, but he had no idea what this might mean.

While he was contemplating the oddness of this encounter, his wife was in conference with the three women. His mother-in-law was speaking intently to his wife, who then looked at the other two women, who were obviously witches and who nodded vigorously at Helga's words, at which point Astrid broke down in tears, but with a wide smile on her face. Apparently, his world was going to get very interesting.

When Helena, daughter of Rowena, first arrived at the castle of the new Hogwarts school, it was obvious that the school's main building would be under construction for some time yet. There were three towers at various stages of completion, and many piles of rubble from the excavation of cellars and other underground facilities.

Helena has insisted that she attend Hogwarts, over her mother's objections. Rowena has told the young woman, now approaching the age of 20, that she knew all that her mother had to teach about the healing arts, and that, although she herself was an old woman ready for retirement, Helena had her life ahead of her helping people of their homelands. To this, Helena replied that her mother may have taught her all she knew, but there was more to learn, and that if her mother could abandon her people to come to the new school, so could the daughter.

Helena did not believe her mother that she knew all she needed to know. Her mother must have learned more in her long life that the younger witch had not yet learned. After all, she had the diadem.

Rowena had known that her daughter wanted her centaurian diadem, but had not realized that the possessiveness of a two-year old for anything pretty had grown into an obsession bordering on insanity. Helena craved the diadem, she dreamt of it, she longed for it, she thought of it as her 'precious tiara'. Helena had become convinced that somehow, if she learned enough, the centaurs would give her one as well.

Rowena had told the girl (as she was at the time) that the diadem merely helped focus her magic, and had no magic of its own. She had let Helena wear the tiara a few times, and the daughter had found that it did nothing for her except to add to her own substantial beauty. Rowena had even gone to great expense to travel to London with Helena, to meet with Maximilian Ollivander, the master wandmaker whose distant ancestor (and founder of the shop in England, and the first wizard to use Lebanese cedar for wands) had been the King's Wizard to Amyntas the Third, the grandfather of Alexander the Great. The wand master, seeing the potential in the young witch, gave her a wand of mountain ash with a phoenix feather core which fit Helena like a second skin. In spite of this wonderful device, she still lusted for the diadem, to her mother's dismay.

Helena saw the diadem as a symbol that her mother was held in great esteem, and that she herself was not considered as worthy. This rankled her, and fed the obsession.

She arrived at Hogwarts determined to learn _everything_. She was a beautiful and brilliant young woman, and at an age when most were married or about to be so, but Helena had absolutely no interest in marriage. As her mother's assistant for many years, she had seen other young women become slaves to their husbands or their children, and she had witnessed the agony of childbirth many, many times. She had heard of women dying in childbirth, although none had suffered this fate under her mother's care.

Helena had no time for such matters if she was going to learn enough to be granted a diadem. She had had many suitors, but had rejected them all, as she had other priorities, or most exactly, one overwhelming goal, and nothing and no man was going to get in her way in achieving it.

With her sharp mind, she was enlisted in the school house headed by her mother, as the other houses were designated by the characteristics of courage (headed by Gryffindor himself), loyalty (Hufflepuff) and ambition and cunning (Slytherin). However, she studied with all who would teach, including the additional staff, all experts who knew and taught what those, already being called 'The Founders', could not.

Baron Marcel de Boisvin was a vain peacock of a young man of 24 years, but possessed of a sharp mind and great courage. Arriving at the castle dressed in his best attire, with several servants, the young wizard was nonplussed to find that he was not to have a separate wing of the castle, but would housed with other students, many of noble birth, but many of low rank. This insult was only to be borne because he was to be the star pupil of one of the greatest military minds of the age.

Marcel was then shocked to learn (during his initial meetings with the staff to assess his talents and potential direction of study) that his training was to be under the direct guidance of the little peasant man from the Balkans. He was to learn from the great Gryffindor, to be certain, but this Master Slytherin was to teach him strategy, subterfuge and cunning ways, which the teachers had said would be needed if he was to become a general (as was his wish as well as his father's). When he complained about the arrangements, Gryffindor told him (in no uncertain terms) that bravery and the ability to lead men into battle was necessary to win a skirmish, but to win a war, you needed to be able out-think your enemy and to lead him into traps and into other conditions favourable to you and not him, and not just to be the last brave and bloodied one standing.

Marcel moped about the castle for the first week, until he began to see a pattern in his Master's methods. He also began to meet the other students, many of whom like himself were from military backgrounds, as were most of the first gather of students who had been sent specifically to study with Gryffindor. The other teachers had as yet no great reputations to draw students to the school.

As time went on, Marcel watched as Master Slytherin carved the stone from the mountain into building blocks and transported them to continue building the towers of the castle. He watched as the founders moulded the stones and glass into the form of the Great Hall, and one of their assistant teachers carved the great oak doors with intricate shapes. Gradually, he came to realize that these were powerful magi, and that he should feel no embarrassment from learning from such people, whatever the rank of their birth.

He also noted that his fellow students were often powerful wizards and witches in their own rights, but each had weaknesses in their knowledge of the magical arts, which they were endeavouring to overcome. That is why they all had come to Hogwarts, and in that, they were all equal.

One particular student who caught Marcel's interest was the daughter of one of the teachers. She was a beautiful young woman of marriageable age, but apparently had no interest in wedlock. She found him possessed of a sharp mind, although not as brilliant as her own, but worthy of sharing lessons and discussing topics from their lessons. Together, the two often came to conclusions which astounded their instructors with their insights.

Given his rank his personality and handsome face, Marcel had had some success with young women, and so he took Helena's lack of interest in courtship as a challenge. This was met by a growing coldness on her part, as he pressed his suit. At length, when he tried to hold her hand, she told him bluntly that if he continued to pursue her in this way, their scholarly discussions were at an end, and she would cease having anything to do with him.

Salazar Slytherin watched the two young people, and felt helpless to either assist or dissuade the young Baron from his suit as the young man fell hopelessly in love with the young witch. Although he was himself not that much older than Marcel, he could see from Helena's reactions that the man's love was indeed hopeless.

Taking his military background and his new learning to heart, Marcel decided to treat his courtship of Helena as a stealthy long-term campaign, and not as the unwelcome frontal attack. He mistakenly was sure in his heart that, in time and with careful and gentle persuasion, he would eventually win her love.

Then the centaurs came to Hogwarts, and everything fell apart for him.

It was about two years after the first students arrived at Hogwarts, when a momentous event occurred.

A number of the students were working in the fields of herbs used for their potions preparations, when group of five centaurs moved in a stately manner out of the forest adjacent to the field. The proud creatures came up to the nearest student, and the mare in the lead spoke, saying (with a thick and strange accent) "We will speak to the masters of this place. We must discuss matters with them. Go. Fetch them."

The student they addressed looked at the group, speechless. The five all wore their diadems, and all were armed with magnificent longbows, carrying quivers of golden-tipped arrow. Although armed, they were calm and showed no threatening gestures. It was apparent that this was a visitation of warriors of the highest level.

The student, who was of the nobility herself, recognised a voice speaking with authority, and ran to the castle. Shortly, the four founders approached the delegation, accompanied by several other teachers and some students who were eager not to miss this very rare event.

Gryffindor bowed to the centaurs. "I am Godric Gryffindor, Headmaster of this school." Gesturing to the other three founders, he said "These are my associates in charge of this place", and indicating the other teachers, said "and these are our staff and students. We are most honoured by your visit. How may we serve you?"

The leading centaurs nodded. "Greetings, General Gryffindor. I am Marisu, the speaker of my people." Although smaller than the other centaurs, she still towered over the tall man, and exuded an aura of authority. "We know of your valour, and your wish to teach all who wish learning. We also know of Mistress Rowena of the Raven's Claw and we honour her assistance of our sister in the southern lands." The centaurs turned to Rowena and all bowed deeply.

All the humans knew of how proud the creatures were, and so were quite taken aback by this reverence given Rowena.

Marisu turned back to Godric, and indicated Helga with one hand. "We must speak of the filly of your palomino companion." Addressing Helga, she said, "The efforts of Mistress Rowena and the wife of Lord Gryffindor have been successful. Your daughter is with child." Helga had known that Rhonda and Rowena had been working to heal Astrid's damaged womb, but this was welcome news and she burst into joyful tears, thanking the centaur for the words.

Marisu looked at Helga and said, "We are most pleased that our news brings you joy. However, this raises an issue which causes discomfort among my folk."

Helga was disturbed at this revelation. Not sure of how to address the noble creature before her, she said, "My Lady, how does this cause upset, and how can I help relieve it?"

The centaur smiled and said, "Mistress Helga, the disturbance is not a matter of harming us. We are a proud people, and we wish little or no contact with humans. Many of your people consider us inferior beings, and some even try to hunt us. I must warn you that those that do, do not and will not survive the attempts."

"However, the wisest of our kind have spoken, and said that your teaching here is of great benefit and importance to both our peoples, and that it _must_ proceed and be successful. Therefore, we must make some allowances for your presence. We know that pride and bigotry are as common with your folk as with ours, and that our cooperation and your teaching may reduce the possible hatred between our races."

"The discomfort is this. The ways of knowledge of humans and of my folks are very different. We study the stars, the plants, the ways of the weather, and learn the future. Your own studies of divination of the future are pathetic compared to ours. Your people learn many forms of magic which are of no interest to us, and we are content to have it remain so."

"I have said that your daughter is with child. Without the intervention of the two worthy witches, this child was destined _not to be_! The foal she bares would not exist, but for the changing of destiny by the two I spoke of! Children who were destined not to be, but then _are_, are often powerful foreseers of the future. This first foal will be a filly, and the daughter will bare four others. The first filly and the second colt will be seers of great power. They _must_ be taught our ways, and so, against the wishes and to the discomfort of many of my people, we must teach them our ways. Thus it has been foreseen! When they are of an age to come to this school, we will provide teachers for them."

"When the children are ready for our teaching, tell Mistress Helga's dog of the news. The love the animal bears for her mistress will send the thoughts to us, wherever we are. We will hear from her mind, and will send word to your representative on how to arrange for their lessons."

"Other than this, we wish little contact with your folk, or as little as can be, given that we have been told by the Wise that there must be some level of cooperation between us. We tell you now, the forest is ours, and is forbidden to your kind. We will not object to minor innocent penetrations of its outer bounds, particularly by the young seeking solitude or privacy, but no trees will be cut from it. We insist that a person, suitable to us and to you, be retained as a liaison between our peoples – he or she will meet with representatives of ours at times when there are matters of great import to both people - we will work out ways and signals to send word at such times. Otherwise, there is to be little or no contact."

"The colony of one-horns which live in the forest are not to be disturbed by your people or ours, and are to be allowed to move without hindrance whether in our forest or on your fields. These are creatures of great beauty and purity, and are _not_ to be desecrated by any. Any direct contact with them will only be possible to those pure of spirit, and only at the unicorns' own choosing and initiative – I do not speak of virginity as your legends claim, as there are many who are untouched in that way but are most impure of heart. Any harm to one of the fair beasts will be just cause for the perpetrator to be killed, either by us or by you. This must be accepted for they are a symbol of what is good and pure in this world."

"In consideration of these restrictions on your use of the land you were told was yours, at times when it becomes necessary for the well-being of both our peoples, we will send word of events which require action to enhance or prevent, as may be. One such event is coming, and in order to protect your lands and ours, action must now be taken."

"Within the next lifetime of a healthy man or centaur, this island will be conquered by descendants of Mistress Helga's country, who now live in the lands to the east of the narrow sea. These so-called Normans will ravage or take possession of many properties. We call on you, Lord Gryffindor, and Mistress Helga, and others you may call on, to take actions to prevent the destruction of these lands, of this forest, and of your school. You will need to speak to many people here and across waters, and to make embassies to courts in other lands. This must be done, or within one hundred years, neither this forest or this castle will remain."

"These are our words."

As the centaurs turned to leave the meeting, Helena ran up to Marisu, and touched her on the arm. The centaur looked at the young witch in shock – no human had ever touched her, and it was an affront.

Helena looked up into the centaur's eyes and begged 'Please, I need to have a diadem. You must give me one, like you did for my mother."

The centaur looked down at the girl, with sorrow in her eyes. "Young woman, our cousins gave your mother the trinket, because she came to them and helped our sister in a time of great distress. She did this with an open heart and no expectation of reward. Your heart is full of yourself, and your mind full of this obsession. We cannot give what you ask under these conditions. Once you empty your heart, we may call you to be of service. Otherwise, we will not speak again."

The centaur turned, and she and her entourage moved into the forest.

Three days later, Helena was missing from the castle, and Rowena's diadem was also missing. Rowena came to Godric and in tears, begged him to send out parties to search for her daughter.

When he asked of the recovery of the diadem, Rowena shook her head. "I care nothing for that bauble. It is pretty, and a reminder of a service I was proud to deliver, but otherwise it is only a thing of little consequence. I knew Helena was obsessed with it, but to my present sorrow I knew not how much. Please bring her back to me."

Godric called the staff together. Those gifted in ways of finding lost things cast their best spells, and the most that they could find was that the young woman was heading to the east.

Salazar thought for a moment. He said "Helena and I have spoken at times about the lands of my birth, and the beauty of the coast of the Adriatic Sea. She expressed an interest in see the places some day. In those lands, a young woman of distinguished bearing wearing a tiara would be taken to be a foreign princess, and would be treated well. It might be that she is headed that direction."

He called on the young Frenchman. "Baron Marcel, you have spoken with Helena much times. Your thinking, please?"

Marcel de Boisvin recalled many times discussing Slytherin's stories of his homelands with Helena. He nodded. "She might indeed go there. We get little news from there, and she may think she is beyond our powers to find."

He drew himself up and looked at the gathering of the people who had become so important to his future life. "I will go to these lands and search for her. I have some familiarity with these lands, as I have campaigned in the area. I have some friends who may be able to help. I will go! I will find her and I will return with her! This I vow!"

The next days were spent in preparation. Marcel was quickly taught spells of seeking and finding, and he and Rowena talked for hours on Helena's habits, which might give clues of where she might go to ground.

On the morning of the third day after her disappearance, Baron Marcel left Hogwarts to head in search of the woman he had fallen in love with, and hoped in his secret heart some day to win for his wife.


	10. Reminiscences of The Headmaster

**Hogwarts: A Pre-History**

**Summary: **A long, long time ago, in a land not so far away, four powerful people got an idea.

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim to characters or scenes from the Harry Potter series, which belongs to JK Rowling and her associates. I get nothing from this except the enjoyment of imagining and writing the story. I am making no money from this, bupkus, nada, sweet-tweet.

**Rating**: K+ No warnings

**Author's Notes**: Non-canonical, as far as I can tell – some things have been alluded to, but not very specifically. I like to explore the background of how people end up where they do. I do not have any claim to the characters created by J.R. Rowling and receive no recompense for this story other than the enjoyment of imagining it.

**Chapter 10: The Headmaster Reminisces**

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat at his desk in his office, surrounded by the detritus of over a hundred years since the school's opening. He was old, even by the standards of wizarding society where a hundred and ten years in good health was not unusual. And he was tired.

He massaged his hands which had grown stiff with age and long use. He turned his ring around and around between the calluses developed from continuous use over a century, when he learned to use it to focus his powers as Godric and Rowena had used their wands.

Salazar Slytherin had been the Headmaster for the last sixty years, having succeeded two of his friends and co-founders in the position. The portraits of his three fellow founders were hung on the walls of his offices, and at times, they would chat and reminisce about the past days when they were all younger and taking on this new challenge. As portraits, they weren't quite as 'present' as the castle ghosts, but near to it.

In their research in scriptomancy (and the related magic of images), their Egyptian wizard discovered that the spirits of the persons portrayed in a painting could be linked to the portrait, so that they were able to move about and even travel from their own portrait to the portraits of others, so they could visit. Over the years, this had become standard practice when painting portraits of people of significance. For those who were deceased, this link only continued if the subject person did not have other 'afterlife' commitments – in recognition of her many years as a warrior, Helga had a standing Friday-night invitation to the feasting in Valhalla, and so was absent from her portrait-frame most Fridays, and often somewhat worse-for-wear on Saturday mornings. Several who had taken the faith of the Cross had completely disappeared from their portraits, and were not expected to return, as they were committed to other realms.

Salazar had achieved his ambition to be respected. As Hogwarts became renowned throughout the wizarding communities of Europe, he and his partners had been asked to help set up other schools as well. The School of The Beautiful Wands (L'école des Beauxbatons) was established near the town of Belcaire in the south of the kingdom of the Franks, with lush fields and nearby high mountains for housing dragons. Many years later, when he was the last of the founders still living, he was asked to help found Durmstrang, in on the eastern mainland north of the Balkans of his youth.

He was very pleased with the program of instruction at Beauxbatons, as they treated all magical folk with the same respect. At Durmstrang, to his sorrow, the inherent class and blood bigotry of the lands of his youth maintained its hold on the students.

He mused to himself whether bigotry was one of the constant traits of human beings. For so many, there was always the distinction between 'us' and 'them'.

He saw it very clearly in the students of his own house, who tended to be of wizarding family lines with long histories in magic. Contrary to what a number of the Slytherin house students assumed, it had nothing to do with so-called 'purity of blood', but the fact that he valued ambition and cunning fin those he took under his wing. This made it that much more likely that those selected for his House were of wealthy or well-connected families, which tended to be of those long-term wizarding lines. As he knew all too well from his own life, the life of an ambitious peasant tended to be unpleasant and often abruptly shortened by their social superiors.

He feared that the rumour continuing to spread through the wizarding community would bring truth to a prophecy issued some years back, shortly after he became Headmaster. It was foretold that in the future, four hundred years after men from Iberia had stolen the Tears of the Sun (whatever that meant), that the world would believe that he had been driven from Hogwarts by Gryffindor because he refused to teach the muggle-borne.

This delusion had come about in part due to a loud discussion when he and Godric were conducting a weapons practice. They had been speaking in very loud voices (what Rhonda had called her husband's 'battlefield voice') over the clash of their swords, on the need for standardized examinations to determine which students were ready for advanced training, and which would require more elementary tutelage. As Godric enjoyed helping beginners enter into the wizarding world (which had served him well as a commander of armies of mixed magical and muggle origins), they had jointly decided that Salazar would take the new students who already had a wizarding background and had some extensive exposure to magic. He left Hogwarts shortly after this to help scout out a location for Beauxbatons.

When he returned that autumn, he became aware of a rumour that he had refused to teach the muggle-borne as being unworthy, and because of this he had been forced to leave (this was being told by students who had not come back to Hogwarts that autumn, and so were unaware of his return). Over time, this rumour grew and spread, as rumours will. Although he had tried to quell the lie, there were always those who preferred to believe in a conspiracy or believe the worst of those in power, especially when this belief made them seem that much more important themselves.

However, his greatest disappointment in life had been that the great southern dragons, which he loved so much, could not tolerate the harsh Scottish winters. Other than the occasional visit by a Welsh Red, he had had little contact with the great beasts for many years. He still had his secret pet down in his secret chamber in the 'basement' of the castle, which he had somehow just never gotten around to telling his companions about.

The school had weathered the Norman invasion and conquest of the island very well, thanks to the warnings of the centaurs, and the diplomacy of Helga and Godric. The chief wizard to Duke William of Normandy was a distant cousin of Helga, being of a collateral branch of her family, and this connection was used to great advantage to secure the lands and income of the supporters of the school (on the conditions that the wizards in the Duke's forces were to be given private lessons at no expense).

He sat quietly looking at the portraits of his friends. Helga and Rowena had been buried in the small graveyard in the castle's east yard, but Godric and his wife Rhonda had been returned to their Cornish homeland and their bodies remained in their family graveyard. However, they were all there in their portraits, and many a night the five of them (including Rhonda) would discuss the state of the world as it was and what is was to be. Salazar would sip his tankard of mead, watching with amusement as Godric licked his lips jealously, as the painter had failed to include the General's favourite drink within the portrait.

Rowena had been the first of the four to cross over the threshold of mortality. When the ghosts of Helena and Marcel returned to Hogwarts from where Helena had hidden for four years in the hinterlands of Albania, Rowena had collapsed in her grief and died a week later. Often, Salazar would glance at her portrait to find her weeping still.

Marcel had found Helena in Albania, and demanded that she return with him to Hogwarts. She refused. In his desperation and despair, he had demanded that she marry him, which she also refused. In his rage, confusion and heartbreak, he had stabbed her to the heart, killing her. Seeing what he had done, he had stabbed himself as well. Being a murderer and a suicide, the Baron was condemned to remain forever covered with Helena's blood. Being a vain man, as the years passed he changed his raiment to the latest style, but as soon as he changed, the blood reappeared. Helena, however, remained dressed in the long grey gown she was wearing when she died, unstained by her blood.

As the first ghosts to come to Hogwarts, they were granted permission to return to their school houses. Over time, their names had been forgotten by the students, and they became known as the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron.

Given his long life, Salazar had noted that the ghosts aged slowly, being as they were still lightly tied to the world of the living. From his careful observations, he estimated that they were aging about one year for every fifty that passed in the mundane world. Interestingly, those in the portraits did not age with the passing of time – Slytherin did not know if this was a fact, or whether their aging was just much slower than that of the ghosts, so that he had not noticed the changes.

Given the aging of the ghosts, Salazar hoped that the Baron would eventually outgrow his vanity, and settle on a particular style of dress, but felt that this was very unlikely to occur within his own lifetime. Chuckling quietly to himself, he thought that perhaps it might happen in about five or six hundred years, when the Baron would be (effectively) in his late thirties, but he was not prepared to wager any money on it. For one thing, how would he ever collect on the bet.

He often thought of the prophecies that Rowena had brought to their attention. The parchment was mounted on his office wall, so that future Heads could consider it, although being in Old Welsh, he worried that they would soon cease being able to read it, much less decipher it. After long consideration, he was sure that the first part did apply to Hogwarts and their work there, but the second part still eluded his understanding. He could see the possibility of progeny of him and his colleagues becoming powerful wizards, and maybe even dark wizards. But muggles flying? Really! After many years of trying, he himself had never been able to master a broom, so how would muggles ever learn to fly?

Salazar looked at the portrait of the General and his wife Rhonda. Many still referred to Gryffindor as 'The General', in spite of his preference to be recognized more for his time as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Godric had retired from his military career in his late eighties, and then had served as Headmaster for sixty years, finally retiring to his estates in Cornwall at an age of 150, shortly after Rhonda's death. He had expired some ten years later, after a very full life.

Godric was also been Salazar's grandfather-in-law, as the easterner had married Godric's youngest granddaughter Marjorie when he was forty and she was twenty five – she was the daughter of Pascal Potter, who had been one of Gryffindor's officers, and his wife Gertrude of Gryffindor. Their second son was now the Defensive Spells Master at Hogwarts, and one of their great-granddaughters had just started teaching at Beauxbatons.

Slytherin now looked over at the portrait of Helga and her beloved sheepdog Susan. Susan's descendants still guarded the school's flocks as they grazed on the hillsides above the castle. Helga's grandchildren had all gone through Hogwarts, and the two the centaurs had taught were now teachers. Her grandson Ingmar Björnson was the Divination Master and Assistant Headmaster at Hogwarts, while her eldest granddaughter Siglinde had been Headmistress and Divination Mistress at Beauxbatons for the last thirty years.

After Godric retired from the school and after a short term (at Godric's personal request) as Headmistress herself, Helga also retired, to live with Siglinde in the south of France. She kept in contact with Salazar, saying that since 'The Master' had retired she had not felt bound, by her loyalty to him, to continue teaching full-time, although she still gave some private lessons on occasion. She also often commented that for the first time in her life, she was warm in January. On her last visit to Hogwarts, she had contracted a cold which turned into pneumonia, and she died in the rooms she had occupied for so many years.

Salazar chuckled lightly to himself when he thought of Helga walking confidently through the corridors of the castle, accompanied by her huge fluffy animal, who was larger than the woman herself. It had become a tradition among Hufflepuff graduates to name their first daughters 'Susan' in honour of Helga's beloved and most loyal companion.

He looked around the room, at the various artefacts collected over the years. Rowena's diadem had never been found, although many had searched for it over the years. Godric's mighty sword was mounted on the wall under his portrait. In a small case under her portrait was Helga's golden cup, presented to her at the opening of Beauxbatons by her granddaughter who had just been hired as one of the first teachers at the new school. In a small case under his own portrait, Salazar had placed the locket given to him by his wife – after her death the previous year, he found he could no longer bear to wear it, and so had made this a small shrine to her memory.

He was tired. He put his head down on his arms on top of his desk, for a short nap.

He woke with a start. Instead of the usual view of his office he expected, there seemed to be a gilded wooden frame around his view. He heard a muffled thumping that sound like footsteps of a large animal, and found his face being licked by a large and very friendly dog.

He heard a male voices shouting "Sal! Glad you could finally join us!", as he was swept into welcoming hugs by two women who had been so much a part of his life.

He looked out of the frame to see the body of a very old man still with his head down on his arms on the desk. He felt rather disoriented

Godric put his hand on Salazar's shoulder, and said "Don't worry about it. It takes a bit of getting used to, but Ingmar will do a good job. You trained him well. Now, your painter _did_ include some in your painting, so let's have a tankard of mead, and we'll tell you of how things run around here."


End file.
